Cry Havoc
by ArtemisEmerald
Summary: Stiles wakes up one morning, a week before his eighteenth birthday, to find his world has drastically changed. The following day proves that this change might not have been for the better. Contains: Magical Stiles, eventual pack love, slash. This is A/U after season 2. Please read internal Authors notes for more info.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Cry Havoc

Author: ArtemisEmerald (Mneme2434 on AO3)

Disclaimer: …So don't own, believe me

Word count: 2153

Rating: PG-13 up to M (mostly for a few swears)

Characters/Pairings: Stiles/Derek (eventual), Scott/Isaac (eventual), Erica/Boyd, Jackson/Lydia, Sheriff Stilinski, Danny, mentions of Allison and Chris

Summary: Stiles wakes up one morning, a week before his eighteenth birthday, to find his world has drastically changed. The following day proves that this change might not have been for the better. Contains: **Magical Stiles, eventual pack love, slash**. **This is A/U after season 2. **

**A/N**: Please note, if you're back in to read this – Stiles age has been bumped a year to allow for a subplot. The whys and what-fors will get explained eventually.

* * *

A week before Stiles' eighteenth birthday, he woke up still feeling tired and run down. Not something he was entirely used to, or hadn't been until the supernatural had slammed into his life. The last few times he had felt this bad, he had spent the night running around town and the preserve followed up by little to no sleep. A glance at his alarm clock had him shooting up into a sitting position with his mouth open in shock, before he groaned and pressed one hand to his forehead and the other to his stomach when both complained at the movement.

"What the hell…?" He muttered, before letting out another groan as the sound of his own voice grated harshly in his ear.

Stiles was pretty sure that he hadn't gotten drunk the night before, but he really felt like he had one hell of a hangover, one that usually arrived after the few times he had shared a bottle of Jack with Scott. Something, he had to admit, they hadn't done in a while because for one Stiles hated feeling like this and two, alcohol was kind of really wasted on Scott now.

Confused, Stiles thought back to the previous night. He had been doing research for the pack but had started getting tired around midnight. He had all but passed out as soon as he hit the bed and there had definitely been no alcohol involved. He squinted at the clock again and it definitely read noon, so he didn't have some kind of weird hallucination a second ago. That meant over twelve hours straight of sleep without any liquid or pharmaceutical assistance. No wonder he felt so shitty. On a normal, _good_ night, he was lucky if he got five hours straight tops.

The realization that he had indeed slept for twelve hours was enough to kick start his bodily functions into gear mainly through his bladder screaming at him. He yawned and let his eyes droop close in his exhaustion, even as he began scooting towards the edge of the bed. He swung his legs over and had an idle wonder about if he was even going to make it to the bathroom in time because his legs _burned_. He had a slight feeling that standing up was going to be a chore all on its own, let alone walking.

He pressed his hands into the bed and pushed up, eyes clenching as he grunted through gritted teeth, his entire body screaming in pain. Jesus, this was worse than a hangover. The last time he had felt even remotely like this was a few years ago when he caught a pretty bad version of the flu. Once he was steady on his feet, he held a hand to his forehead. He was definitely burning up, that was for sure.

"Son of a bitch," Stiles whispered to himself. He grabbed his phone off the desk and shuffled his way across the room as he pressed the quick call button for his dad.

"_Stiles? What's wrong?" _

"Pretty sure I caught the freakin' flu," Stiles said, in a voice just loud enough to be heard.

There was silence for a moment before his dad said, _"We don't have anything in the house besides aspirin. Take a couple of those for now and I'll stop at Mike's pharmacy and pick some stuff up for you._"

Stiles, who had finally made it to the bathroom, quirked the side of his mouth up, "Thanks dad. The cherry flavored Nyquil if…they…have it," Stiles trailed off as he caught sight of something at the peripheral of his eye on his way to the toilet. He frowned and took a step back to the mirror and turned slowly to look. His eyes widened before he let out the most pathetic squeak ever and pointed at the mirror, "Blue! I'm blue! Oh my God, this is not a good color for me at all. I look like a blueberry," He groaned, forgetting in his shock just who he was on the phone with.

Stiles suddenly had a terrible thought and grabbed the waist of his sleep pants. He pulled at the elastic and looked down before whimpering, "_Everything_ is blue."

To say that Stiles was confused would probably be the biggest understatement. This was quite obviously supernatural related but he couldn't figure out the cause. The pack's last supernatural encounter hadn't been anything with advanced magic and what he had been researching were some pretty docile pixies that certainly weren't capable of this, so unless something just randomly decided to attack him last night, Stiles was stumped.

"_Oh Stiles. I'll…well, I'll be home in a few minutes_."

Stiles clacked his teeth shut on another whimper over being the color of a berry and straightened up at the reminder that it was his _dad_ who was on the other end of the phone, his dad who was not quite in on the whole werewolf and pack and supernatural thing, "I…uh, look dad…"

"_You're fine Stiles. I'll explain when I get home. Just stay calm."_

"Stay calm?" Stiles replied, suddenly feeling a bit hysterical because seriously, what?  
"Dad, even my hair is blue! Well, sort of blue. Actually, it looks kinda neat. Hey dad, when this is straightened out, can I give myself blue tints?"

His dad sighed, "_I'm five minutes away…and eat something. It will help." _

Stiles jerked the phone away from his ear when it beeped to let him know the call had disconnected. His dad knew what was going on? That was...well…to be honest Stiles didn't know what to think. So, he was going to do what his dad said and eat…as soon as he used the toilet first.

* * *

Seven minutes later, Stiles was sitting on the couch, morosely gumming away at a bowl of oatmeal. He wasn't the biggest fan of the stuff, but even the thought of toast made soggy by butter caused his teeth and jaw to throb in agony. The pain reminded him of his trips to the orthodontist to get his braces tightened and he wasn't exactly happy to be reliving that.

Stiles was debating getting up to get something else, anything else, when the door opened and his dad walked in. John took one look at Stiles and his face crumpled up in an old grief. It answered one of Stiles questions of where this affliction, because at this point it wasn't anything but, came from. Everything about his father's demeanor screamed that this came from his mom.

"Oh Stiles," his dad whispered, shedding his jacket and hat before walking over to the couch.

Stiles just scooped up another spoonful of oatmeal to gum at with a grunt, a heavy frown on his face. He had been the only token human in the pack since Allison left and he had been slightly proud of that fact-that he could still help the werewolves out without the need for anything supernatural to help. Now, well, now he wasn't sure what to think. It was a lot to take in, especially since he just hurt too much to think.

John sort of just dropped onto the couch, like he had had strings holding him up and they had just been cut. He sighed and pulled Stiles into a sideways hug. Stiles leaned into his dad in acceptance of the hug but didn't raise his arms to hug back.

John gave another little sigh before shifting and pulling his wallet from his back pocket, "Your mom was, well, she was a fairy."

Stiles eyes widened because that was the _last_ thing he had been expecting to hear. He turned to look at his dad, "What? She was?"

John nodded as he bent the wallet back to reveal a hidden slit. He slid a photo from it, small and corners cracked with age, "Wings and all. I took this picture the moment I first saw her. I was out in the preserve, practicing with a camera for one of my classes at the academy and had accidentally zoomed in on her. If I hadn't, well, I probably still would have met her because she had known I had taken the picture and she wanted to see it, but there was less of a chance she would have told me what she was."

Stiles looked at the photo and gasped. It was certainly his mom, just as beautiful as he remembered, but she was _glowing_ and had wings extending from her back. She had been wearing a strapless golden dress that made her waist length blond hair shimmer and was probably accentuating the glowing of her tanned skin. Due to what must have been wind, a cape or something similar was visible behind her, fanning out slightly. She had her hand up to shield her eyes as she looked towards the camera.

"That was the day your aunt and uncle got married," John said, touching a finger to a lily blossom attached to the hip of her dress, "Claudia was just taking a break from the festivities."

It wasn't her clothing choices that had caught Stiles' attention though. It was the wings. They were pearl white and slightly opaque, with pure white and silver veins streaking and swirling through. The edges were shaped much like a bats, but looked so much more fragile, "Could she fly?" Stiles asked softly.

"She could and did. She even took you for a few midnight flights before you got to the age where you would start to remember them."

"You were never going to tell me about her, about that, were you." It wasn't a question.

"No, but it wasn't my choice. Not at first. When you were born, you looked like a human baby. There weren't many half human fairy children around and none in Beacon Hills or even California that we were aware of. So, we just figured that you took after me and left it at that. Your mom, well, she didn't want you to be jealous or upset because of what she was and you weren't. She said that it wasn't fair to you. So, she used her magic to hide that part of her away. And when she died, well, I just kept it up. Never saw the point of it, even after you started running around with those werewolves."

Stiles heart stuttered in his chest, "W-werewolves?"

John rolled his eyes, "Don't even. I've known Derek since he was in diapers and what he is just as long. Your mom was best friends with Talia Hale and had been since _they_ were in diapers."

"So…it wasn't cancer that killed her then."

"What?"

"Mom," Stiles looked up at John with narrowed eyes, "She didn't die of cancer. I've done enough research lately to know that. Fairies don't have the same kind of diseases humans do. Her magic would have snuffed out any signs of cancerous cells as soon as they developed."

"You're right, she didn't. She died because of the Hale fire," John said, turning his gaze down to the photo clenched in Stiles hand, "Like I said, she was best friends with Talia. Their two families, the Hale pack and the Vista family had been allied in Beacon Hills for over a century. Because your mom was so close with Talia, it was decided that they would be the…" John trailed off, "Crap, I can't even remember what she called it. They were like the very center of this allegiance, bound through the Vista family magics. Your mom said they were chosen not only for their friendship but because they were the youngest and the magic is always the strongest when cast on the young. The allegiance was supposed to be passed on to you and Derek, but with you thought to be fully human, your mom and Talia decided it would be safer to keep the allegiance between them until your aunt had children. Then the fire happened.

"When Talia died in the fire, something in your mom…broke. We told you it was cancer but it had something to do with her magic and the death of Talia. That was the point that she just…started to waste away. The allegiance was never reformed, mostly because nearly all of the Hale pack perished in that fire. It was the weekend that Laura graduated high school, so everyone had come to town, the entirety of the pack, werewolf and human alike."

Stiles eyes widened, "Derek told me that Laura and Peter had gone to get food in town because Talia didn't want to cook for so many people after the graduation and that Peter had tried to get the people out of the house when they got back, which is how he ended up in the hospital. He never said where he was at the time but…now that I'm actually thinking about it, I kind of remember Derek…"

John nodded, "Derek was spending the night here. For some reason, he got a kick out of you and your mom thought it was adorable. We were going to go out to the dinner as well, but…you kicked up a fuss; a huge tantrum that we had never seen come out of you before. We waited it out but by then we just decided it was too late to go. Then your mom collapsed into herself and a few minutes later, Laura showed up on our doorstep, zoned out and covered in smoke and soot."

"Christ…" Stiles rubbed his forehead with his hand, thinking about how the whole thing was a bit of a mess. As he was doing that, he caught sight of his skin and pulled his hand away, "Hey, I'm not as blue."

"You looked like this when I came in. You mean you were worse?"

Stiles nodded, "Yeah, like a shade or two darker."

"Well, that's good then. I wish I knew more about this kid. It may be a good idea to think about calling your aunt."

Stiles nodded, before his mouth formed an O, "Dad, I can't go outside like this and there is a pack meeting tonight. If I give you a flash drive, can you drop if off with Scott and tell him I caught the flu?"

"Pack meeting? Scott?"

"Uh," Stiles opened and closed his mouth a few times, "We'll talk later. You really should get back to work."

John rolled his eyes again, "Just get me the drive."

TBC….


	2. Chapter 2

See chapter one for disclaimer and summary.

**PLEASE READ! **

**A/N: Right, now that I have everyone's attention. I am looking for a beta for this story (and possibly other stories maybe?) and also someone to bounce ideas off of, which means knowing a bit more about the Teen Wolf world than I do. This person can be one in the same if you can handle it. PM me if interested! Thanks! **

Onward and enjoy – Chapter 2

* * *

Stiles was curled up on the couch with the photo of his mom an hour later when Scott finally got around to calling, "_Dude, your dad said you weren't going to make it tonight_."

"Yeah, I caught something and feel like shit," Stiles muttered, his pale blue colored finger tracing the outlines of his moms wings in the photo, "Dad thought it best that I stay home. Given that it hurts to even move, I kinda agree with him. Wouldn't want to pass this on to Lydia or Danny if he shows up."

Stiles felt kind of bad for lying to Scott, but Stiles wasn't exactly blind to Scott's faults…and one of Scott's biggest fault's was that he just couldn't keep his mouth shut. Stiles just wasn't ready to come out of the closet about this, not until he knew more and…well…he was kind of a little pissed off at Derek because Derek had to know _something_ about what he was and that he hadn't said anything kind of hurt. Especially since Stiles couldn't think of a reason as to what could hold the alpha wolf back on such a subject.

And there was no way he was going out in public like this, even if over half of his friends were supernatural creatures themselves. There obviously had to be a way to hide the skin color, his mom had always looked like she had a pretty healthy tan going on and his aunt was pretty pale but normal looking, but he wasn't sure _how_.

"_Yeah, I guess. Hey, thanks for looking this stuff up though. It should help us find a way to stop the pixies from damaging any more trees_."

"Yeah, no problem. Scott, I gotta go. Bathroom's calling," Stiles said, sitting up to do just that.

"_All right, later dude. Feel better!_"

"Bye," Stiles hung up the phone and stared at it a moment, debating calling his aunt now, before shrugging and tossing the phone onto the coffee table. He'd wait until his dad got home.

Stiles climbed to his feet and made his way upstairs, the urge to shower nagging him on. He felt itchy all of a sudden, like ants or spiders were crawling all over him, and he knew the only way to combat that feeling was to shower. Otherwise he would rub himself raw. It had happened before after he walked through a giant ass spider web.

Stiles grabbed some clothes out of his room, another pair of sleep clothes really since what was the point of getting dressed if he wasn't leaving the house, and went down to the bathroom. The tub faucet went on and after checking that the temperature was ideal, flipped it to the shower and closed the curtain. He stripped down and, after a whimper at the sight of a blue dick and blue balls followed by a choked laugh because wasn't that the truth both literally and figuratively, he stepped into the shower.

And promptly let out a scream as soon as the water hit his back. The water felt like acid raining down onto his back and he dropped to his knees in agony, unable to find the strength to move away. He dropped his hands to the floor of the tub to support himself and found himself staring down at blood and what looked to be chunks of skin. Before he knew it, he was hanging over the edge of the tub making an acquaintance with his oatmeal.

Soon though, the blood and skin had dissolved enough to wash down the drain and the water started to feel amazingly good on his back, especially once the water went cold. So good, in fact, that he was still in the shower, draped over the edge of the tub, two hours later when his dad came to check on him.

"Stiles?" He dad called from outside the door.

"Yeah, come in, its fine," Stiles muttered, just loud enough for his dad to hear him, "Don't mind the smell. The oatmeal came back for a visit." John stepped into the bathroom and Stiles tilted his head so he could look up at his dad, "I think the wings showed up."

"Uh…" John was staring at his back, eyes wide as he watched a set of wings flutter and flap, "You're not flying."

Stiles shook his head, "I'm sure the lack of energy has a lot to do with that. Not to mention that I don't even know how to use them."

"Okay…going to call your aunt. Like, now. Think you can climb out of the tub?"

"Uhm, maybe. Also, might be a good idea to close the curtains downstairs."

John nodded, "I'll grab some paper towel and 409 to clean that mess up too."

Stiles gave him a crooked grin, "Best dad ever."

"And don't you forget it," John said over his shoulder as he walked out the door.

John was back in the bathroom a few minutes later, cleaning up the mess in front of the tub, "The curtains are closed downstairs so you can walk around. I uh," John eyed his wings again, "I wouldn't recommend putting a shirt on though. That might cause you some pain."

"Yeah, I kind of figured that one out," Stiles said, accepting the towel his dad handed him before leaning over to shut off the water. He wrapped the towel around his waist and stood up, using his dads shoulder for balance as he stepped out.

The wings on his back, and really wasn't that the coolest thing ever it was all Stiles could do from squeaking in excitement because he had fucking wings, were throwing him off kilter a lot more than they probably should. It felt like an overly full backpack he wasn't used to carrying around yet…and they didn't even feel like they weighed all that much, which kind of made it a little pathetic.

Once he was steady, John left him to his own devices and went to finally make that phone call. Stiles took a deep breath and stepped in front of the mirror, looking at his new appendages. They were shaped almost identical to his moms from the photo, but instead of pearl tinted white, his were navy blue swirled with silver and white veins. They matched his current skin color amazingly well.

When Stiles was dressed and at the bottom of the stairs, John met his eyes as he said, "He's right here Meranda. Of course. It was nice talking to you as well."

John handed the phone over Stiles and went into the kitchen. By the sounds that suddenly started emitting from the room, his dad was digging through the cupboards for something, probably tea. Stiles held the phone up to his ear, "Hi Aunt Mer."

"_Hi baby boy,"_ his aunt's soft voice filtered back to him. He had always loved talking to his aunt, especially after his mom died. She had always been understanding, not just because it was her sister that died but because she had lost her husband the same year, "_I heard you had quite the shock this morning." _

"Well, you know. What's a little blue skin in the morning, right? The wings are pretty cool though and I am totally digging the hair. Slight problem though."

His aunt chuckled, "_And that would be?_"

"I can't go to school like this! I can't even go out in public! People already think I'm nuts. Let's add wings to the geek!"

*"_Mieczyslaw, calm down and listen to me. This is not the end of the world. I can tell you how to hide the wings in plain sight so you can go to school tomorrow. The blue skin will be gone by then as well. Well, it should be. It is babies that go through this, not eighteen year old children,_" She paused for a moment and Stiles steadied his breathing, which had picked back up at the use of his real name, "_Now, hiding them is a matter of will. But that will can be broken. We must teach you how to harness your magic so you can truly walk amongst humans without worry. We will do that when you come to visit, maybe earlier depending on what your grandfather says."_

Stiles touched the tip of his finger to one of his wings and gave a full body shiver, "How much will are we talking about here, because these wings? Are extremely sensitive."

"_Everyone's are. It's…rather rude to touch other people's wings for that reason. That sort of touch is kept between mates and most parents and children. This is going to make you very uncomfortable Stiles, but until you get here it has to be done. What I want you to do is lay down and relax. Completely relax, like you are about to fall asleep."_

"Er," Stiles pulled the phone away and gave it a dubious stare, "You know me Aunt Mer and how unlikely that is."

"_Actually, I have a theory about that but for now, just do it. I think you will find it easier than you think." _

Stiles shrugged and dropped down to the floor, and relaxed as much as he could given that he was laying on hardwood, "Okay," He said, his voice muffled by the floor, "Now what?"

"_Now, you are going to have to concentrate. Listen to your body and find the muscles in your back that are controlling your wings._"

"Seriously?" Stiles asked, unimpressed. He used to do this as a kid when it was the coolest thing ever to wiggle your ears. Scott had no trouble grasping that concept. Stiles just made himself look like an idiot. Now he had to do it again?

"_Relax and just try it._"

"Ugh," Stiles muttered before forcing his torso to relax. The wings were still fluttering behind him and he concentrated on the muscles of his back, between his shoulder blades where the movement seemed the strongest, "Okay, got it."

"_Good, now tense those muscles carefully, like holding your foot still when you want to twitch it._"

And oddly enough, for most people, that wouldn't have made a lick of sense, but Stiles had ADHD. He knew what it felt like to have to control his hands, arms, and feet when they wanted to twitch due to excess energy. So he stilled those muscles like he would with anything else, and sure as shit, the wings stopped their fluttering, "Holy crap, that worked."

"_Good! Now comes the hard part. I want you to relax and tense those muscles a couple of times, to get a feel of how they move._"

"Okay," Stiles followed her directions, stilling the wings and letting them flutter, "Aunt Mer, why are the wings even fluttering? Shouldn't it be the other way around?"

"_Fairies are creatures of magic. Our magic is an ever moving energy in our bodies and because of that, our wings seem to move on their own. In general, though, it is more that they show what we are feeling, better than any facial expression could. When we fly, we control them just like any other bird and when we are out in public among others it is only polite to hold your wings still. Now, do you understand how the muscles feel?_"

"Yeah, I think I got it."

"_All right, now, try to lower them. It will feel like curling your fingers into a fist, except you want to curl your wings into your back._"

"I…" Stiles started to say that there was no way he could do that, but then decided to try first. It wasn't as easy as it sounded, "They just dropped onto my back like a blanket. I have a feeling I didn't want to do that."

Aunt Merenda laughed, "_Not quite. Relax the muscles and try again. Remember to curl them in. Kind of like a bat would do."_

"Right, think bat. Like Batman or…oh!" Stiles exclaimed, "Dude! They folded up like an accordion. Hah, that was kind of cool." He expanded them back out again, so he could let them drop onto his back again, "It kinda tickles really."

"_I am proud of you for getting that, Stiles. And yes, it will tickle because they are brushing against each other. It will get worse when you put a shirt over top. Well, two shirts in your case. Whatever you do, do not set your backpack over your shoulder. You can bruise the lining or even break one of the bones."_

"Right," Stiles said, still playing with his wings and enjoying the feeling, "Oh, hey that gives me a question. How do we fly with these? Because going by our body mass, these wings should not only tower over me but drag on the floor in order to be big enough to lift me."

Meranda laughed, "_Magic of course. Now, you were already going to be up here for spring break, but how would you feel coming up Wednesday instead of Friday and then staying a week after?_"

"Well, I'm okay with it? But you're gunna have to convince dad because that's a lot of school to miss."

"_Baby boy, you are getting straight A's. I don't think a week is going to kill your GPA. Hand me back to your dad_."

"Okay. Love you Aunt Mer."

"_Love you too Stiles._"

Stiles climbed to his feet and practiced holding his wings still and curled into his back as he walked into the kitchen, "Aunt Mer wants to talk to you."

John cocked an eyebrow as he accepted the phone, "You got those under control quickly. Also, you feeling all right? You haven't had a nervous monologue or twitchy accident since I've been home," John asked before holding the phone up to his ear, "Seriously, Meranda? Is he okay? Because…oh…you think so? Well, he'll be happy about not having to take the Adderall anymore."

Stiles cocked an eyebrow at that, which, oh, that was her theory. That his ADHD had something to do with him not coming into his heritage until now…which, yeah, okay, kinda made sense, especially after Aunt Mer explained the whole what magic felt like thing. So, cool, no more Adderall. He could totally live with that. This whole fairy thing was starting to have a lot of perks.

TBC…


	3. Chapter 3

See chapter one for disclaimer and summary

A/N: So, a couple of things. First off, there are some tropes in this fandom that I readily enjoy that aren't a part of the show. This story will contain two of them, _possibly_ three if my sister gets her way. Stubborn little shit. So, yes, I have seen the show but this is an A/U. I'm going my way.

Secondly, again, a plea to anyone if they are interested in beta'ing. Look at it this way, it's a sneak peek into what's going to happen later before anyone else. Oh – and a title change. It wasn't intentional for The Ivory Bow to be a stand in title but…it sort of happened. Sorry.

See end for more notes

Onwards and enjoy!

* * *

When Stiles woke up Monday morning, six days before his eighteenth birthday, he wondered in a sleep induced haze whether the day before had all been a dream. He no longer felt any pain throughout his body, from what he could see in the dim light coming in from the bedroom window his skin was no longer blue, and he felt…anxious and twitchy, like he hadn't taken his meds in two days. What convinced him that the day before had so very much _not_ been a dream was rolling over and letting out a blood curling scream as he landed square on his wings.

"Son of a fucking _bitch_!" He yelled, quickly rolling back over, gasping at the pain. It felt like he cracked his elbow on a door or landed hard on his tail bone, "Oh my god, I am never doing that again. Holy shit…"

"Stiles!"

"Sorry dad!" he yelled back through pained breaths, "Rolled over!"

John poked his head in the door, "Well, don't do that then."

Stiles rolled his eyes and pushed himself up onto his elbow, "Yeah, I totally did that on purpose. Wanted to see what would happen."

"Don't be a smartass."

Stiles smiled slightly, more out of relief as the pain started to diminish, "I'm always a smartass. It's my default setting."

This time it was John who rolled his eyes, "Don't I know it. Come on, you've got school in an hour."

Stiles made a face and climbed out of bed. He was making his way down to the bathroom to take care of his morning ablutions when the weirdest sensation swooshed over his ears and he could suddenly hear his dad's heartbeat and breathing _a floor away._ Stiles stumbled to a stop and leaned against the wall in shock. Now this? Seriously? Because he did not need to add messed up senses to the list of all the shit that's happened in the past day alone. He was also suddenly annoyed at the fact that he had felt jealous over the rest of the lycan's for this ability because it _sucked._

As quickly as it had come on, the abnormal noises dissipated with another swoosh of the weird feeling and the world sounded right again. He stumbled back into his room and fired of a text to his aunt before finally making it to the bathroom. When he got back, there was a text waiting for him, telling him that it was certainly abnormal but that fairies had a higher ability than humans to control their senses. That it sounded like his magic was pushing his to find their limits before settling in.

"Great," Stiles mumbled as he whipped open drawers and his closet door to get dressed, "One more thing to worry about."

It took him all of a minute to find something to wear, the time consuming action being the tucking in of his wings into the least painful and annoying configuration he could find; which meant squished up against his back like an accordion with the bottom tips tucked into his jeans. He had spent the five minutes while performing that little task thanking God that the bottoms of his wings were the least sensitive bits out of all of it.

"Are you sure you want to go to school today?" John asked as Stiles tripped down the stairs, backpack in hand, "I can't imagine you're very comfortable. Not to mention you still have a bit of a blue tint going on."

Stiles shrugged carefully, trying not to move his shirts too much. He had found, rather quickly after getting dressed, that the shirt fibers were very aggravating to the sensitive membrane of the wings. Which, yeah, membrane. Something else he was trying so very hard not to think about after he had done some further reading the night before. Turns out that for as much as the wings were a magical manifestation, they were very much a part of him. Meaning made up of bones and skin so thin it was actually called membrane. It still gave him the willies to think about, that the things had been hiding and growing in his back until his magic was strong enough to support them. Stiles gave a shiver. Again, not something he really wanted to dwell on.

"I'll be fine. And really, the blue tint just makes me look sick, so it kind of supports the flu story."

His dad gave a noncommittal hum as he shrugged into his jacket, "Speaking of the 'flu story,'" Stiles had to stifle a laugh when John made the actual quotations around the words, "We are going to have words when I get home tonight."

Stiles grimaced, "Yeah, yeah, I know."

John nodded, "See you later then. Behave please."

"I will endeavor to do my best. I make no promises," Stiles shot his dad a grin, "Love you."

John shook his head as he started towards the door, "Love you too son."

Stile's watched his dad leave before slipping into the kitchen. He made himself a quick breakfast of toast, hot enough to melt the peanut butter because melted peanut butter on toast was the best in Stile's honest opinion, and glanced through his homework once more before shoving it all into his bag. He closed it up, checked that he had lunch money, and made his way out the door.

He stared at his jeep for a moment, wondering how the hell he was going to manage this before squaring his shoulders and tossing his bag to the passenger seat. He cocked his head his head in thought as he looked over the driver's seat before leaning in and shoving it back as far as it would go. When he was satisfied that there would be room between the seat back and his wings, he climbed in and buckled up. Sitting on the bottom of his wings was proving to be a little awkward, but it was something that he was going to have to get used to for the next few days.

The drive to school was, well, weird in the fact that his body kept acting without his permission. It kept naturally trying to slouch back into the seat, but every time he got anywhere near it, his wings started to prickle even worse than they already were which game him the shivers. He was pretty sure that if any of the deputies saw him, they would think he was driving drunk with all the weaving around he was doing while trying to get comfortable.

When he got to the school, he felt slightly more in control of his wings (and body for that matter) and he hadn't had another episode with his hearing since that morning. The itchiness was to the point that he felt he could control it, so really, maybe he could do this. Maybe he could make it through the next three days with minimal problems. That thought bolstered his mood all the way up until he reached the doors. It would figure that it would be at that point that his hearing would go on the fritz again, because hey, look at his luck. He stopped just outside the doors, hoping the incident would be as quick as it had been the hour before. He didn't want to walk into the school looking like his head was about to explode.

Stiles smiled to himself as his hearing seemed to zoom in on Scott, who was laughing somewhere down the hallway. It made Stiles smile grow a little bit more, since his friend hadn't had much to be happy about since Allison moved away. He could hear Isaac teasing Scott about something that didn't make much sense to Stiles. Something about a monkey and chimpanzee mix up. He briefly wondered what had happened at the meeting last night but the thought left him when he heard Scott sober up and his friends voice ask, "_Hey, has anyone seen Stiles yet?_"

"_Who cares,"_ Another voice, Jackson by the sound of it and how sad was it that Stiles knew it at all. It was probably all the condescension dripping from it. That was pretty hard to miss, "_No, seriously, who cares. He's probably harping on being sick to miss another day of school and frankly, it will be a pleasant vacation, much like last night was. That was the best meeting since becoming a member of this stupid little group. Right to the point, fly through the shit part, and straight into pizza and a movie."_

Stiles raised an eyebrow. They had pizza the night before? And a movie? What the hell kind of pack meeting were they having? Every meeting Stiles had ever been to never included those two elements. And he had been to every one since Scott finally gave in and accepted Derek as his Alpha. Was this something that the pack used to do before they had joined?

"_Jackson…"_

"_Oh come on McCall. I get that he's your little buddy but even you have to admit that last night was pretty cool. Without Stilinski there to ramble on and on, we actually got to do something fun for once."_

Stiles pursed his lips. Jackson was such a dick sometimes. So he rambled, it's what he did. Between the ADHD and finding waaaay too many things relevant to the topic on hand, he tended to go on. He didn't waste the whole _meeting_ though. He mentally started urging Scott to tell that to Jackson, but the longer Scott was silent, the more Stiles began to panic.

Did they all think that? Even Scott? If that was the case, why didn't anybody tell him? Scott was usually one of the first to tell him to shut up or stuff it, followed by Derek usually. But if his rambling was so inconvenient, why didn't they say something about it at the meetings? He would have certainly stopped. Hell, he's usually grateful when someone tells him to shut up, anything to stop the embarrassment that tended to follow up the word vomit.

Stiles was reaching out to grab the door handle so he could march in there and confront Jackson, never mind that he was still scrambling to figure out how to explain how he had overheard in the first place, when the jerk continued, "_You know what? I'm going to talk to Derek tonight and see if we can't keep Stilinski from coming to the meetings. He's not even part of the pack anyway_," The last part faded out as Stiles' hearing reined itself in again.

He dropped his hand and sat down onto the cement wall along the edge of the stairs. Not pack? But…Stiles shook his head. No, that couldn't be right. Wouldn't Derek have said something? But then again, no one had explicitly said that he was either. It was entirely possible that Stiles had assumed the whole thing. Stiles snorted. Yeah, he knew the saying when it came to assuming.

He stood back up and carefully made his way back to his jeep, suddenly glad he had to park on the far end of the lot, where no one really paid attention to. When he reached the jeep, he pulled out his phone and called his dad to tell him that he wasn't quite as ready as he thought and maybe it would be a good idea to go up to Aunt Meranda's and Grandpa's earlier than planned.

* * *

"Okay, I called Emma at the station and she's going to pass it around to all the deputies to keep an eye on you and what you eat. If it seems like it's getting out of hand, one of them is going to ride with you," Stiles told his dad, tripping –yet again- down the stairs into the living room, two duffel bags hanging over his arm.

John gave an exasperated sigh as he handed over the train ticket he had picked up on his way home after work, "It's not like I'm going to be eating junk food the entire week, Stiles."

"Dad, every time I spent the night at Scott's, I come home to the place smelling like bacon. You are not as sneaky as you think you are."

"It's turkey bacon."

"Right, and I'm the Queen of England."

"All hail her royal highness!" John exclaimed, bowing to Stiles.

Stiles rolled his eyes, "Funny you are not. Seriously though. I made some meals for you this morning after I got home. There's enough in there for dinner the rest of the week and there should be enough for a lunch or two if you ration it some. I'll make some freezer meals at Aunt Meranda's for you to take back for the last week."

John pulled Stiles into a headlock, "You know, I'm pretty sure that the last I checked, I was the parent around here."

Stiles laughed and punched at John's stomach, "You are a fantastic parent. I just wish you'd look out as much for yourself as you do for me."

"Ah, Stiles," John said, transferring his hold from headlock to hug, "I will, okay? But I am only calling a three week truce. As soon as you're back, the status quo will fall back into place."

"I'll have to take it if that's the best I'm going to get. I won't have to worry as much."

"Kid, I think you'll be too busy to worry about your old man. And I'll be up there for a week. Are you sure you don't want me to bring Scott? I thought that had been the plan for this year."

Stiles shook his head and pulled away, "No. First line has practice every day over spring break. It was the plan before he made the cut. Uh," Stiles rubbed at the back of his head, "I…didn't tell Scott I was going up early either."

"Why?" John narrowed his eyes at his son, "You know, maybe now might be a good time to have that talk. You don't have to be at the train station for another half an hour yet."

"Look, things are…" Stiles gave a rough sigh and dropped down onto one of the stools in the kitchen, watching as his dad pulled a couple of water bottles out of the fridge, "Okay, here's the deal. You already know about Derek, so…Scott's a werewolf. He was bitten by an Alpha last year in September. Not Derek," Stiles added quickly when he saw his dads frown deepen, "But an Alpha that didn't have a pack – the one that cause all those murders that went on. Derek killed that Alpha and became one himself. Scott didn't actually join Derek's pack until a few months ago after Allison moved. He needed the stability of the pack afterwards because Allison had been Scott's anchor. Err, an anchor is…"

"I know what an anchor is, thanks," John said, interrupting Stiles, "Where do you factor into this pack?"

Stiles bit his lip and stared down at the table, "I don't."

"What?" John asked, voice surprised, "Werewolf packs do have human pack members. Wouldn't you have joined with Scott?"

"It…it's not as easy as that. Dad, I'm good at research, but that's about it. That's all it was. I, well, I thought I was a part of the pack, but I found out today that I'm not," Stiles shrugged, "It's not that big of a deal. It's not like Scott is going to stop being my friend because I'm not."

"Ah."

Stiles looked up at his dad and raised an eyebrow, "Ah?"

"Well, I had a feeling something must have happened at school that caused you to change your mind. You told me you weren't ready on the phone, but you had been pretty adamant before that. I knew something wasn't right."

"See," Stiles said, with a soft smile, "This is why you're the Sheriff."

"Stop deflecting."

Stiles sighed, "I'm not. I got up to the school doors and my hearing glitched again. I could hear everyone talking. I homed in on Scott talking with Jackson and Isaac. Jackson said that the meeting last night was the best they had had since he became a wolf because I wasn't there. That was followed up by Jackson planning on talking to Derek tonight about me just not going back anymore. I guess I take up too much time at the meetings and I'm not pack anyway."

"Wait, Jackson's a wolf as well?"

Stiles glared at his dad, "That entire thing and that's what you took away from it?"

John waved a hand, "Sorry, it's just…it's Jackson Whittemore. Son, he's always been a bully to you and Scott."

"Yeah, I know. And I was all prepared to defend my honor but…Scott and Isaac didn't refute any of it. It's not something to worry about anyway. I'm still gunna research for them, I am surprisingly better at it than Danny given his history," Stiles gulped at the sudden glare that John gave him and quickly continued on, "But I am just gunna, you know, do it at a distance now. Flash drives and stuff."

"Uh huh," John said, ignoring the part about Danny, "But how do you feel about that?"

"Well, it sucks obviously. I mean, totally and completely sucks. But I'll do what I have to. I may not be pack, but they still are to me. Even jerkoff Jackson. I need to keep them safe."

John smiled softly, "That's my boy. Now, what are we, and by we I mean I, telling Scott when he inevitably climbs through your window wondering where the hell you are?"

"Tell him the truth. Just…don't tell him where Aunt Meranda and Gramps live. I'm gunna need this time to get my head on straight and not just about the fairy stuff. It'll be easier if he doesn't follow me up there. 'Cause you know he will. He will blow off all his responsibilities if he thinks something is wrong. And he can't do that, not anymore. He's Derek's second now."

John nodded, "All right. I'll tell him you said that too," John paused, before a look of enlightenment crossed his face, "That's why you're taking the train instead of the jeep."

"Yeah. I love the old girl and it would be faster by almost seven hours to drive, but she gives off a particular smell to the wolves. I think something is leaking to be honest. Scott can follow it in a heartbeat now," Stiles glanced at the clock before standing with a stretch, "Well, train leaves in twenty. You ready for a week of freedom?"

"Bring it on," John said, knuckling Stiles head with a laugh.

TBC…

A/N 2: I still have no beta (other than my sister) so any mistakes you found are my fault. I have a tendency to write while watching what I want to happen play out like a movie in head. That also means I tend to write like people speak because more formal writing just _sounds_ weird to me. If you have any problems with that, let me know and I will try to edit that out somehow.

I also think I _might_ be getting a hang of Stiles voice, but I'm not quite there yet. Sadly, I got Jackson spot on in his first foray into the fic (I swear, I hung my head in shame when my sister told me that, and she's only seen three episodes so far). We'll see how I do with Derek when I get there. By the way…I love Sheriff Stilinski to pieces.


	4. Chapter 4

See chapter one for disclaimer and summary

A/N: This chapter was looked over by both my sister and my new beta/helper She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Sane. Both have been so incredibly helpful.

Also, thank you for the reviews/likes/kudos whatever. I love it when people love my stories! – as do most authors I'm sure. :D

Onwards and Enjoy!

* * *

The ride to Tacoma, by train, was nearly twenty hours. Stiles was lucky in that his aunt and grandfather had paid for a sleeper cabin. Their reasoning was so that Stiles had a place to retreat to so he didn't have to spend the twenty hours hiding his wings. It was a valid idea and probably the only reason his dad agreed to them paying; sleeper cabins on the Amtrak weren't exactly cheap.

Stiles spent the first few hours before dinner holed up in the cabin, having the freak out that he didn't want to have around his dad. He had told his dad that it sucked that no one had considered him pack and that was true. But he didn't go into the embarrassment that he felt over his assumption; the embarrassment and the overpowering feeling of loneliness that shook him to his very core. Both, sadly, led to a panic attack.

It wasn't the worst one he had ever had, his first would always hold that title especially with the asthma scare behind it, but he was still on the meds for now and he had never had a prescription for anti-anxiety pills beyond the first one just after his mom died. They just didn't mix well with the Adderall. His way of compensating was to draw, a trick he had picked up from his mother when she used to spend the summer hazes with blank canvasses, the strong scent of acrylic and oil (she preferred paint) perforating the air, and scattered charcoal pencil that she let him play with on discarded boards. With his ADHD, it was one of the few hobbies that required intense concentration and with the infinite possibilities that came to drawing he couldn't grow completely bored with it.

Stiles had known, had _felt_ himself on the verge of an attack most of the morning and had made sure to pack his sketch pad, pencils, and charcoals in his carry on. And then hadn't been surprised when it hit an hour outside of town.

The concentration needed to make steady lines and intense detail was enough to take his mind off of his breathing, which allowed his body to regulate it back to normal. The tingling and numbness in his face and extremities slowly dissipated as well. He was left with shaky, charcoal smudged hands from the adrenaline with a tight chest from the hyperventilating, and sometimes he thought the after affects were as bad as the attack itself, but hey at least he could breathe again.

He spent another half an hour drawing, before he gave up and tossed the pad and charcoal onto the seat opposite him. The shaking was just too much and he kept making mistakes and thinking about things he didn't want to think about. The subject of his drawing, started unthinkingly with a numb mind, wasn't helping any. With a sigh, he glanced at his phone and saw that it was nearing dinner. He wasn't hungry, he never was after an attack, but knew that he needed to eat or the shaking would get worse.

During dinner, Stiles made friends with a wonderful older lady who just happened to notice his charcoal smudged hands and lured him into a conversation about an artist or two that she had dated 'back in the day.' He somehow managed to charm the socks off of her by talking about his favorite artists and techniques. She had still been giggling like a school girl as she left to her own sleeper cabin. After that, when he had finished eating – or rather picking at his food after eating all his stomach could handle which at that point wasn't much, a group of older gentlemen invited him to their game of poker, realizing that Stiles was traveling alone.

The distraction did wonders on him and he left the diner car around ten with steady hands and pockets full of peanuts and pretzels. He had been so busy trying to keep up with squirrely, cheating old men that he forgot about his attack for the most part. His chest was still sore, but that would take longer to go away. When he got back to his cabin, he called in to check on his dad and managed to kill another hour of the long trip just mindlessly chatting at his father.

After that he passed out, falling asleep in the chair, not bothering to pull down the bunk. He regretted it a short time later when he lost the tenuous control he had on his wings and they tried popping out of the back of his shirt. The pain had caused him to jerk awake in surprise. And he had then spent some time grumbling as he stripped and got the bunk ready.

The rest of the trip was spent alternating between fitful sleeping and playing around on his computer, doing half assed research when he could bring himself to do so. Not entirely an easy feat when he felt like he could currently care less about shit. He gave a brief wonder as to whether he was dipping his toe into depression or not, but decided after a bit of thinking that he was just passive aggressively showing his hurt at the pack by not doing what they wanted or needed. Just a little bit of rebellion before he got his head on straight and went back to trying to keep his friends safe.

Stiles ventured out of his cabin around six to eat breakfast, his appetite mostly restored. His chest was still aching, the longest the after effect had lasted. He was a bit concerned but it wasn't a crushing ache, it was still the same tenseness from the night before. He would have to take a wait and see approach before jumping to conclusions.

All in all, when the train finally reached Tacoma around one p.m., Stiles was dying of hunger and getting pretty crabby. It totally sucked that he still had an hour to go before he got to his aunts. If he was lucky, she would be a sweetheart and swing in for some fast food or something before they got on the road. Otherwise, he was likely to bite her head off at some point in the near future.

"Stiles!"

Stiles head jerked around and he saw his aunt at the edge of the platform, looking like a hippy flower child with her flowing skirt, sandals, and peasant shirt. All she needed to complete the look was a crown of flowers woven into her chocolate brown hair. He also saw a pair of bright green eyes, framed by messy brown locks of hair and a very familiar fedora, blink at him from behind her skirt before they disappeared again.

He grinned, "Aunt Mer!" Stiles dropped his bags in order to catch his aunt up in a hug, "It's great to see you," He pulled back and peered over her shoulder, "Hey Q!"

A gap toothed grin met him as Quinton, Meranda's son, looked at him from where he was buried in the folds of Meranda's skirts, "'Stiles!"

Stiles raised an eyebrow, even as he melted at the adorableness that was his five year old cousin who was now lisping his S's, "You've been able to say my name right for at least a year," He glanced at Meranda, who was just shaking her head, "What happened?"

"Lost teeth," Quinton said as he pulled his upper lip upwards towards his nose, the same upturned nose that Stiles himself had, "See?"

Stiles whistled lowly, "Wow! That's pretty impressive!"

"Yes, he lost them while carrying around an overloaded toy bucket between his teeth and tripping up a curb. Incredibly impressive," Meranda interrupted in a sarcastic tone as Quinton opened his mouth again, "Okay, I'm sure Stiles is pretty hungry, so why don't we get going hmm?"

Quinton stuck a finger into his mouth as he nodded and Meranda picked him up to let him settle on her hip. It wasn't to be, however, as the moment he was in the air, Quinton was struggling to get to Stiles. The five-year-old had always been on the smaller side but the boy was a wiggle worm and had more than once twisted his way out of a hold, up in the air or no.

"Here, I'll take him," Stiles said, picking up his bags and slinging them over his shoulder before accepting his cousin, who snuggled into his neck with a happy sigh, "And yes, food. That would be awesome. Curly fries if you can."

Meranda rolled her eyes and led the way out of the station, "I'll swing through Arby's. Your grandfather is still out of town. He's up in the Cascades with a feral colony, helping with a rough birth."

"Helping?"

Meranda gave him a weird little grin over her shoulder, "You do know that your grandfather is a healer right? It's considered a Vista family trait, given that all of the men in the family were magically inclined to be healers. Given those adorable blue hair tints, which match your grandfathers when he's been awake for forty eight hours straight, I bet your magic runs that way as well," She frowned then, eyes straight forward, "It's a shame really."

"Why?" Stiles asked, hiking up Quinton a bit as he happily snuffled off into sleep, his body becoming lax, "Isn't being able to heal others a good thing?"

"Of course it is. No, I was just…I was hoping you'd take after your mom with all of this. It would figure that she'd be the unique one out of us."

They had reached Meranda's truck at that time, and she slid her son out of Stiles' arms to put him into his booster in the back seat. Stiles threw his bags onto the floor underneath his cousin before gently shutting the door. He climbed into the passenger seat and was buckling up as he asked, "What do you mean? How was she unique?"

Meranda started the truck and pulled out of the lot, aiming it towards the Arby's sign up the road, "Your mom, and this was probably because of the alliance with the Hales, was a fighter. It was…My God; it was incredible to watch her in action. She moved like the wind and could be just as fierce. She favored a bow when she fought, a brownie bow that she was so proud of, and she always claimed that the arrows were good for short distance and long distance fighting and you could never go wrong with that."

Stiles had to bite back a snort. Wouldn't it figure? His mom had been another Allison Argent. Because Allison had said something almost exactly similar to him and Scott a bit before Christmas when they had been trying to coax out of her what she wanted as a gift and she kept repeating arrows. Then he blinked. What the hell was a brownie bow? It sounded like a bow that should be worn by a brownie scout, not a fighting tool.

Meranda must have noticed his bafflement because she was quick to explain, "A brownie bow is a bow carved out of the old trees, when fairies were still using them to live in. The bows were carved centuries ago and always chose their next wielder. The new owner then entwines their magic into the bow to mix with the magic inherent in the bow itself. It ensures a sort of communication which means that intent, not aim, helps the arrows fly true. Your mom was about twelve when that bow appeared and all of us were shocked. There weren't many in the family that ever had combative powers. Unless pissed off, fairies are pretty passive.

"I still have her bow," Meranda continued, "It appeared in my living room the morning she died. It's how I knew she was gone before your dad even called. It's just sitting there in all its glory, waiting for its next user. I can't even touch it."

Stiles blinked again, "Why?"

Meranda shrugged, "Stiles, I am just as much of a klutz as you. I'm liable to break the thing just by laying a finger on it and it knows it."

"Hmm, well, if gramps is a healer and mom was a fighter, what is your magic tuned to? What about gramma's? Or Uncle Dom's?" He glanced over his shoulder, "Q? Because I've know that kid since he was born and I have to say, I've never seen wings sprouting from his back."

"I take after your grandmother. We are, were, both inclined to be out in nature, taking care of flowers and other wildlife. I'm the one that collects the herbs your grandfather needs for his salves and potions now that mom is gone," She pulled up to the drive-thru and looked at Stiles, "What do you want to eat? It's on me," She added quickly when he shifted to pull his wallet out of his pocket.

Stiles gave her his order, an extra-large curly fry a must, and contemplated what he had learned so far about his family. It was shocking, really, that there was so much that he didn't know. He had always thought them to be so close and yet here he was learning that there was a whole other life his mom had had, that his aunt and grandfather had. He didn't know whether to be in awe that he was actually magical or to cling on to the creeping sense of betrayal; he could have used this information and _help_ when he went out dealing with rogue werewolves and hunters, not to mention whatever else that tended to show up in Beacon Hills these days. Stiles shook away those thoughts that came from the dark and insecure crevices in his mind and willed himself to divert his attention back to his aunt.

"Your Uncle Dom," Meranda started again, somewhat wistfully, as she pulled out onto the highway once they had their food, "Was drawn to the healing arts as well. I told you it was a Vista family trait after all. He just…he was more like your mom, going his own way. He was fascinated with humans, with the lives they were able to lead without magic. He also had a bit of a fighter streak in him. So, he decided to carve his own path when it came to his healing, rather than following your grandfather's steps and sticking with fairies exclusively."

Stiles nodded, "The army."

"Yes. I met your uncle through him when they were home on leave and Quinn had nowhere to go. Those two saved so many lives in Afghanistan," Meranda gave a sad smile; "It's just a shame they lost theirs in the process. As for my little terror, we're not sure. Like you, he is only half fairy. Except…"

Meranda glanced at him, "His other half is not human. It's Kelpie. So…we are just as lost as we were with you. Anything could happen."

The rest of the ride passed in silence, occasionally broken by a snort from the backseat where Quinton was sleeping. Meranda was likely thinking of her lover, the man she had named her son after and that still held her heart even though his death was years ago. Stiles was trying to deter any negative thoughts that kept swimming through his mind with little to no success since he was still feeling the effects of not only the long train ride, but also the medication that he no longer needed.

He knew what withdrawals were like and he and his dad had decided that weaning him off slowly was the best course of action, just in case. But there was a still a heaviness in his chest that wasn't just from the depressing family story he had just learned nor was it from the shock of having his life axis ripped out from under him when he learned his true heritage. It was like there was a giant hand pressing down on his chest, so similar to his panic attacks that he was half afraid he was on the cusp of another one even though he knew that the pressure came during, not before.

That first week in Washington, Stiles was pushed to the edge by his aunt and eventually his grandfather. By Friday, he was able to store his wings into little pockets in his back thanks to his magic. It was uncomfortable as fuck, but it did the trick. Wearing shirts didn't feel like a chore anymore. He had also been constantly reassured that he would eventually get used to the feeling of storing his wings. One of the salves his grandfather taught him to make that eased pain helped as well. Despite all of that, he still couldn't fly. Which was killing him, because hello – _wings_. He could barely get an inch off the ground before he came crashing down. Quinton thought that was the most hilarious trick ever and Stiles manfully consoled himself that he was doing it to get a laugh out of the five-year-old.

On top of that, the pressure in his chest had turned into something that felt eerily like the depression he had felt after his mom died. Sure, he was excited to use magic, to learn the healing traits his grandfather knew and how to pick the right kinds of plants from his aunt, but none of the excitement could totally erase the feeling that something was missing. That something was _wrong_.

He wondered if it was because he was away from his dad for so long. This was the first time he had made the trek to Washington alone and was the longest he had ever been away. He talked to his dad every day on the phone, sometimes twice, listening with guilt as his father got more and more annoyed with Scott and the rest of the pack as they hounded him about where Stiles had disappeared to. Apparently knowing he was with family and that the Sheriff obviously knew wasn't enough to quell their worry. John had tried more than once to get Stiles to at least call Scott, but…he wasn't ready. Not yet. He had spent a few mornings half miserable about being led on, about not truly being pack.

The idea that the ache was centered on his father was further cemented when his dad showed up on Sunday, a day earlier than planned to spend Stiles birthday together (and holy shit, Stiles was eighteen! Wasn't that a kick in the head? Sixteen had seemed to go on forever), and the pressure on his chest lessened some.

He spent all of Monday morning showing his dad his new tricks, who 'oohed and awwed' in the appropriate places but with all the enthusiasm of a man who had seen that trick thirty times and was watching it with someone who hadn't seen it, much to Stiles consternation, before his grandfather dragged his dad off to go fishing. An activity that Stiles hated and his dad enjoyed, so it had always been a bonding activity between father and son-in-law.

Once the door was shut behind them, Stiles slid into his aunt's study, "So, what's on the agenda for today?"

Meranda looked up at him with a soft smile, "Today's a free day baby boy. I have a couple of articles I have to finish editing before tomorrow."

Stiles nodded, totally understanding. His aunt did have a job after all. But he had had this overwhelming sense of energy to be moving, to go somewhere, a sensation he hadn't felt all week that eerily mimicked his ADHD, "Okay then. I am going to go wake Q and take him down to the inlet for a while."

"Okay. Take a lunch and some water with you. Oh, and whatever you do, do not get sea salt on your wings; It's a hassle getting the salt out," Meranda said, most of her attention already back on her computer.

"Right," Stiles went off to the kitchen and packed himself and his cousin a rather large lunch, knowing what his appetite was like lately it was better to be safe than sorry, and a few bottles of water and Gatorade. Then he went about the task of waking up a five-year-old that loved to sleep. It was a joy, it really was. As much as he adored his little cousin, getting kicked in the face was not all that fun. It took nearly twenty minutes to get Quinton to the point of getting ready, let alone out the door.

His aunt and grandfather's house was barely a mile up from Hammersley Inlet, a part of the track of waterways that came off of the ocean and butted up to Tacoma and Seattle. Stiles had spent his last few vacations traipsing about in the water, enjoying that he could swim in a part of the ocean without worrying about the dangers the actual ocean presented. Knowing his luck, sharks or whales or something would find fairies to be irresistibly yummy.

The closer Stiles got to the inlet, the more he felt like he could breathe again. The pressure was letting up almost completely, something he was still sure had to do with his dad and now a new sense of freedom as they made the trek to the water. He spent most of that time carrying Quinton as he finished waking up and the rest laughing at the antics of a five-year-old who enjoyed the forest a little too much.

It took them twenty minutes to reach his favorite spot on the inlet and he quickly laid out the blanket he had grabbed, followed by the food, on an outcropping of rocks that jutted out over the water. He dropped down on the blanket with a sigh. Now this was more like it. It may not have been warm enough to swim, hell it wasn't warm enough to go without a sweater, but the sun was warm on his face and the heat of the rocks was slowly filtering through his blanket and hoodie. With the added bonus of not feeling like he was being compressed to death, it was almost enough to put him to sleep.

And it probably would have, until Quinton reminded him that he was so very much not alone as the five-year-old jumped on his stomach, "Stiles, 'm hungry!"

Stiles stomach let out a giant rumble in agreement with his cousin's words, causing the little boy to fall back onto the blanket, overcome with giggles. Stiles laughed, "Looks like I am too. Help me get the food out."

Together, they pulled out some sandwiches out of the basket, thick with veggies and very little meat, along with a big ziplock bag of kale chips his aunt and cousin had gotten him addicted to. Quinton dove into his food like he hadn't been fed for days. Stiles would have complained, told him to slow down, but he was just as hungry. He barely made a dent into his first sandwich, however, when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck start to rise.

Stiles furrowed his brow in concern and gently manhandled Quinton onto his lap with one arm, the boy murmuring around his food in confusion before settling in. Stiles knew that feeling. He got it when his grandfather was being a creeper and trying to psych him out whenever he practiced with his aunt. The older man had thought it hilarious the first two times when Stiles yelled long and loudly about the heart attack he had experienced. He had learned, as was his grandfather's intentions, to follow that feeling. To know when something was out of place…or someone.

Stiles slowly lowered his sandwich to his plate so his arms were bracketing Quinton before glancing around. He didn't see anybody, not at first. A second sweep, and he caught a flash of black behind a tree. He cocked his head and used his magic to push his vision a little bit further (it would figure he could control his senses better than his fricking wings), to magnify where he was looking. It was then that he caught sight of a familiar pair of blue green eyes and he gasped, "_Derek?!"_

TBC…

A/N:


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles jerked back in shock and blinked rapidly when his vision suddenly retracted. With a shake of his head, he peered back out, but couldn't seem to find those eyes again. He lengthened his hearing, but couldn't hear anything either, except for the odd forest creature scurrying about. A bullfrog croaked close by and Stiles winced, his hearing automatically returning to normal to protect itself.

Quinton leaned back and Stiles looked down to see green eyes thrown wide with worry, "You okay? Who is Derek?"

"Uh, Derek is…" Stiles blinked slowly, "Someone I know from home. And yeah, yeah, I'm okay. I was just shocked, that's all. Come on, maybe we should get back to the house."

"Aww, but…"

Stiles shook his head and lifted Quinton to his feet, "Uh uh, no buts dude. Help me pick up."

Quinton glared at Stiles before huffing a sigh and bending over to gather up the sandwiches. They made quick work of the food, tossing everything back into the basket. Quinton held the basket while Stiles folded up the blanket with quick but efficient flicks of his wrist. He stuffed it under the handles of the basket and promptly swung his cousin into his arms. He cast out his hearing once more and when he knew the path was safe, worked his way back to the house.

It wasn't until they crossed the proximity alarms that he let out a sigh of relief. He pressed a kiss to Quinton's forehead before setting him on his feet, "Go tell your mom we're back."

Quinton stared up at him a moment before he nodded and took off into the house. As soon as his cousin was behind closed doors, Stiles allowed himself to drop to his knees with a gasp. Holy crap on a cracker, he was hallucinating now?! And it had to be hallucination because there was no reasonable explanation for Derek to be up in Washington, no way for him to even know where Stiles was even if he were so inclined to go after the wayward fairy.

"Stiles?!"

Stiles looked up and saw his aunt rushing towards him, "Aunt Mer, we're okay. I swear, nothing happened. I just had a freak out that's all."

"I know, baby," Meranda said, crouching down and pulling him into a hug, "Quin does talk to me, you know. What makes you think you saw Derek?"

His aunt had all but forced the last eight months out of him his first night at her house. Well, Stiles claims force, but to be honest he all but word vomited everything out like he was prone to do, including his ever growing crush on Derek and the shrinking one on Lydia. His aunt had always been so easy to talk to. Plus, like his parents, she had known Derek since he was a newborn as well. She had claimed that she used to take him and his brothers and sisters in to babysit when Quinn was home on leave, to give him some practice for when they had kids.

Meranda hadn't been thrilled about Scott being turned into a werewolfor that Peter, crazy fucked up Peter, had been the one to do it. Though she did tell Stiles that if Scott had killed the Alpha instead of Derek, Scott would have become an Alpha not been cured – something that no sixteen year old should bare and certainly not a werewolf who didn't want to be a wolf in the first place. Scott was more confident in himself now, but back in October? That so would not have been a good thing.

"I…" Stiles shook his head, "I saw a flash of black and I pushed my eyesight and I swear to God, Aunt Mer, I met Derek's eyes, straight on. They are kind of distinctive, ya know? But…after I jerked back, I looked again and listened this time and there was no one there. No one in the woods anywhere that I could tell."

Meranda pulled back to look at Stiles before biting her lip, "Is it at all possible you actually did see him? He is a werewolf, Stiles, and he knows your heritage. There are ways to mask sound, especially if he is at all suspicious."

Stiles let out a scoff of a laugh, "Yeah, no, he totally wasn't there. If anyone was lucky enough to figure out where I was it would be Scott because he is the only one that cares enough to actually chase me down. And that's _if _he and or the others figured out where I was. Yeah, sure, Scott and Isaac are worried about me, I got that much from dad but that's it."

"Hey, hey," Meranda said, shaking Stiles shoulders lightly, "Enough with the self-defamation."

"That wasn't insecurities talking. It's kinda the truth. The pack members are nice to me generally, though granted Derek's is more of a '_I'm only putting up with you because you're useful_' kind of way, but none of them actually like me. I'm more of a helping hand than anything. That isn't exactly what pack bonds are built on, ya know? Besides, I read the lore. Fairies can only bond with wolves through magic…a fairies magic. Guess what I didn't have until now?"

"No," Meranda said with a soft smile, answering even though it had been a rhetorical question, "You were human until now. Think about that," She climbed to her feet and started back towards the house, "Come in and finish eating. Then you can take Quin into town to do the shopping while I finish those articles. We will go into spell work after dinner."

"Yay," Stiles said, sarcastically, though inside he was jumping up and down like Quinton was prone to do. They had yet to touch spells since he had been here, more concerned with his control. Though, dammit, he still wasn't able to fly.

Eating didn't take that long, Stiles was still hungry even after his little mental breakdown and he had come to love the veggie filled sandwiches that were commonplace in his aunt's house. His grandfather told him that fairies were very tied in to all things nature and most were straight up vegetarians because of it, including him and Meranda. However, Stiles had spent eighteen years of his life eating meat and he would happily continue to do so. But that didn't mean he wouldn't start eating more veggies. Plus those kale chips were amazingly addicting! If he could keep himself stocked up at home, he could probably drop potato chips from his diet completely.

Quinton, who had eaten while Stiles was conversing with Meranda outside, met him at the bottom of the stairs when Stiles was done with his own lunch, "Ma said we're goin' to the store?"

And just like he had spent the last week doing, Stiles melted at the lack of teeth induced lisp. Coming from a five year old dressed in a captain America t-shirt, cargo pants, little workmen boots, and that damned fedora he only took off while sleeping or in the tub, the kid was incredibly heart melting and the lisp just made it worse. It may make him out to be a ten year old girl with her first teeny bopper crush, but whatever, Stiles didn't care. He was secure in his masculinity. To make it even worse, Quinton just patted his thigh and stepped around him with a knowing smile no five year old should ever have on their face, "Gampa does the same thing. Some healer thing he said. Makes us kids iri…iris…" Stiles could hear the scowl in Quinton's voice, even as he tried to parse through what the hell the kid was saying, "More adorable."

Well…that was something. So it was the healer magic in him that had him turning into a puddle around his cousin and that it happened to his grandfather as well. Good to know. It also knocked a few future career prospects off of his list, because there was no way he could be an elementary school teacher if he thought everything a kid did was adorable. He would so get taken advantage of. Kids were vicious little sharks when they sensed willing bait. He'd seen his dad drop the hook under groups of kids all the time during the police department tours. If they honed in on that, Lord knows what they'd do to Stiles with his apparently _a hormonal girl_ fairy genes.

The store was actually an indoor market place at the edge of town, with individual vendor stalls selling a variety of goods. Stiles loved the place. It was upbeat, busy as hell, and they had the best stuff. Some of the stalls had homemade goods, such as foods and clothes; others were more like flea markets in style. There were also stalls of major store brands, set up by the chains themselves. All in all, it was a little slice of heaven, even for someone who didn't like to shop. Stiles wished they had something like it back in Beacon Hills. It would make shopping for his dad so much easier and all the farmed goods were so much fresher than a grocery store.

"You wanna grab a cart Q?" Stiles asked, pulling his aunts list out of his pocket.

Quinton nodded eagerly and ran over to the cart park, yanking out one of the larger carts that had a seat for him at the top. Stiles lifted him up and swung him into the seat, "Okay, so…your mom's list is mostly fruit and some of the veggies she doesn't grow at home. Oh," Stiles scanned the list, "And some breads as well. All right then. While we're here, I'm going to do some shopping to make my dad some dinners as well. Might as well ki-er, take care of two birds and all that jazz," Stiles quickly diverted his word flow, when he noticed Quinton staring up at him with wide eyes.

"So, Q," Stiles said, pushing the cart down towards the food section of the store, "How's school treating ya?" Despite the week at his aunts, Stiles really hadn't had any meaningful conversations with his little cousin. Sure, he read him bedtime stories, or rather allowed Quinton to read to him, but that had been the extent of their interaction outside of his training.

Quinton shrugged, turning in his seat this way and that to see everything that they passed, "S'okay. Mister G is cool," he dragged the word out, like most kids were prone to do, "We read lots and color tons. I can count to a hundred. That's a lot."

Stiles grinned, "That really is. Okay, here's the bread stand. Let's see, we need-"

"Stiles?" A surprised, dulcet tone rang through the air.

Stiles jerked and looked around. He knew that voice. But there was no way, no way at all that she was here. But damned if he was wrong. Allison Argent stood a stall down, brown eyes wide at the sight of him before they began flicking around like she was looking for someone. Probably Scott because, generally, where one went so did the other. Which boy did that kind of grate on his nerves a bit. He was capable of living a life without Scott, "Allison! Oh my God…" He trailed off slowly, wondering what was becoming of his life that he wasn't as surprised as the situation warranted.

She gave him one of her sweet smiles and walked over, pulling him into a hug that he accepted with a small smile, "Stiles! I can't believe you're here!" She pulled away and gave him a frown, "Why are you here?"

"Visiting family for break," He dropped his arms from around her waist and pressed a hand to the back of Quinton's neck, careful as all get out not to disturb his fedora. Quinton was vicious about the thing, "This is my baby cousin, Quinton."

Quinton scowled, "Not a baby."

Stiles winced, "No, no, you're a little man. I'm sorry. I should know better, really." He glanced at Allison who looked to be emotionally pulled between amused and _aww, isn't he adorable_, "Last time I called him a baby, he put super glue in my shoes. It…wasn't pleasant."

Which had happened a year ago. Seriously, Stiles had no idea how Quinton had pulled it off. Because Stiles had been ten when he first tried a prank with super glue as the main ingredient and ended up in the hospital with four of his fingers glued together from half a tube of the stuff. Quinton had been _four_.

Allison laughed, "Oh that's funny," She turned towards the cart and the little boy perched at the top, "Hi Quinton. I'm Allison, a friend of Stiles. I love your hat."

Quinton lost the scowl and flashed Allison a grin that was all dimples and missing teeth, "Thanks. You're pretty!"

"Why thank you! You're pretty handsome as well. If it's okay with your cousin, do you think I could buy you a milk shake?"

"Oh! Yes please!" Quinton turned his doe eyes on Stiles and really? How the hell could he say no to that?

* * *

"So?" Stiles asked, dipping his spoon into his glass to dig out the cherry from where it was slowly sinking into the ice cream, "I thought you guys…" He flipped a hand, "New York?"

Allison dragged her eyes away from Quinton as she nodded, "Yeah. And we are. But dad had a conference in Tacoma. A legit business one," She rushed on to add when Stiles eye's narrowed, "and since it was spring break, I got to tag along. I don't mind being by myself, but a whole week with no school, it was just a little much you know?"

Yeah, Stiles knew. Especially with Allison being a new girl in town. Even with four months under her belt at a new school, out of school hang outs are hard to do if you don't have people like Lydia and Jackson yanking you into their lives without thought, "Tacoma is an hour away," Stiles couldn't help but point out.

"Yeah. Today's the start of the conference. I got bored hanging out at the pool and one of the concierges mentioned this place and thought I'd like it. She was right of course."

Stiles smiled at that, "Of course."

"What's a con-see-air?" Quinton asked around a mouth full of his ice cream sundae that he had talked Allison into with a lisp and fluttering eyes. Apparently little minds were not so one tracked as Stiles remembered his being. It used to be that someone could put ice cream in front of him and he would disappear into the total experience of eating ice cream, life around him be damned.

"It's a person who works at hotels to make other people's vacations easier," Allison answered before Stiles got the chance.

Quinton squinted in thought before nodding and going back to his ice cream, "Okay."

Allison chuckled slightly. Then she looked back at Stiles and her smile drooped a bit, "I remember you talking about visiting an aunt over spring break. I thought…I thought Scott was going along."

Stiles shook his head and looked down at the table, "No, he uh, had practice all week. Required for first line if they wanted to keep their spots."

"Mm hmm," Allison hummed, the tone knowing.

Stiles sighed, "Okay, look. Some…stuff…happened a week ago. Part of it was me and part of it was them. I just…I'm not quite ready to talk to them…him yet."

"So, you ran away."

"What? No, of course not," Stiles looked up and locked eyes with her knowing ones. He sighed again, "Fine. I ran away. Sorta. I was planning on coming here anyway. It was pretty coincidental actually. But still…"

Allison reached out and touched his hand, "Can you tell me what happened?"

"I…" Stiles bit his lip. Could he? Granted Allison's dad was an okay guy now mostly, with his creepy father gone and all but, did he want to risk it? He loved Allison, she was a wonderful person, but things tended to slip.

He could, however, tell her some of it, "I…overheard something. Scott and Isaac goofing around and then Jackson coming up to them before I could go over. And Jackson…started spouting off. Turns out…I'm not…" He shook his head, was he really still that upset over this? "I'm not part of the pack. Not like I thought I was. They were humoring me," He whispered the last part, no doubt that Allison could hear it.

"Oh, oh Stiles," She whispered right back, her voice showing how upset she was on his behalf, "What did Scott say? Or Isaac?"

"Nothing," He croaked. And yeah, looks like he was still that upset about it.

A look of ire crossed her face, "Those boys," She growled, "Okay, look. You are not going to believe me, but I am putting it out there anyway. For the short time that everything started running smooth before I left, I was considered a part of Scott's pack and because of that, part of Derek's depending on how you think about it. Pretty impressive given that the truce between dad and Derek was pretty shaky and I'm pretty sure Derek didn't and still doesn't trust me. I was there because of Scott. And because of that Derek accepted me. Which means if he accepted _me_, then he accepted you. Because you are a much more integral part of Scott's life than I ever was. Sixteen years cannot overcome six months. It doesn't work like that.

"Jackson has a bug up his ass, had one pretty literally actually, and as for Scott and Isaac, well…maybe they just don't understand that humans can and usually are a part of pack life. They weren't born to that kind of life and still have a lot to learn."

Stiles mulled that over. That…was a possibility. And one that made him look incredibly fucking stupid actually. Running away over Jackson opening his mouth would make him look like a little baby, "So, what your saying is that I blew this way out of proportion?"

Allison shook her head, "What I'm saying is talk to Derek. Explain to him what happened and go from there. Even if you did take things out of context, Jackson had no right to say any of that," She took a sip of her milkshake and then quirked an eyebrow as a snore came from next to Stiles elbow, "He fell asleep?"

Stiles chuckled softly, "Yeah, he tends to do that. Q loves to sleep."

Allison glanced around the bustling café that was edged up to the opening of the store before shaking her head, "Must be nice, to be able to fall asleep in the middle of such chaos. To not worry about anything."

"Tell me about it," Stiles sighed softly. Even though his ADHD had been a byproduct of his magic being locked away for the first eighteen years of his life, he had found that his thoughts still tended to buss around like bees. To fall asleep whenever one wanted to sounded like an amazing, far-fetched dream, "Real nice."

TBC….


	6. Chapter 6

See chapter one for disclaimer and summary

A/N: Couple of things. One, sorry for the wait. People tend to go on vacations and you really can't fault them for it…not me, but my wonderful beta She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Sane who is wonderful, let me tell you. Two, don't kill me. Please. Also….a bit of good news, I am back to being ahead of the game. I am currently working on chapter ten so….this story is growing to epic proportions (well, epic for _me_ anyway). It is currently my third longest story in the ten plus years I've been writing fanfics. This fandom is eating my brain. That's all I can say.

Onwards and enjoy!

* * *

Stiles sighed and knocked back the rest of his nearly melted ice cream. Talk to Derek. Everyone was all talk to Derek. He would, honestly he would at this point just to get everyone to shut up about it, but he had left his phone back home and unless he wanted to call Scott, everyone was just going to have to wait until his dad got back to Beacon Hills.

"Thank you, Allison for the ice…cream…" Stiles trailed off and his brow furrowed when he felt something weird happening in his chest. It felt like, well, he wasn't sure what it felt like. It was an odd tugging sensation, kind of like a rope was thrown around him and someone was tugging him away and oh, there's the analogy. Stiles rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he peered around Allison in the direction the tugging seemed to be pulling him.

"Stiles?" Allison asked, glancing over her shoulder, the lines of her body tight with tension and worry.

"Do you mind watching Q? Just for a minute? There's something I want to go check out but I don't want to move him just yet," Stiles said, turning his attention back to the girl across from him.

Allison nodded, "Of course. I just…is everything okay?" She asked the last part in a slightly harsh whisper, alluding to their shared common interest, if one could call it that.

"Yeah," Stiles stood up and stepped towards the store, "Yeah, everything's fine. I'll be right back."

Stiles glanced back over his shoulder just in time to catch Allison sliding into his vacated seat and casually wrapping an arm around Quinton. Smart, but…not entirely necessary if he was reading his magic, well, he was guessing it was his magic, right. Stiles faced forward and stepped into the store, making his way down the aisle closest to him.

The tugging was leading him to one of the far back corners where, when he reached the end of the aisle, he noticed a new vendor setting up shop. It was a bit odd, really, since it was two in the afternoon, but it was where he was guided too.

Stiles walked up to the booth and glanced down at the wares already out before frowning. Whatever his magic wanted must still have been packed away, and seriously, why was it all feelings with this stuff? It would have been so much easier to get a clear picture so he could ask after the item rather than just stand around and twiddle his thumbs like a doofus while waiting for the item to be placed out.

The older gentleman that was slowly unpacking his boxes behind the counter eyed Stiles shrewdly before his face cleared and his eyes widened, "Ah, so you are why I am here."

Stiles frowned, "I'm sorry?"

The man smiled, "I own this booth, but I rarely come in. I just find it prudent to have. Today is a good example of why. Step back here behind the curtain please."

"I'd rather not," Stiles said, taking a step backwards instead, "My father is a sheriff. I've been aware of 'Stranger Danger' since I was in diapers."

"Oh, I like you. Yes, I think they will be in good hands," The man said with a laugh, "I know of your heritage. Mine is similar if not the same. We can sense others you know, once you know what you're looking for. Now, I would really prefer not to do this out in the open. I think it would draw far too much attention."

Stiles bit his lip and glanced around. He blinked when he saw just how packed the back corner was, "Okay, but if you do anything funny, I will beat you up, old man or not."

The man's eyes twinkled, fucking twinkled like he was impersonating Dumbledore or something, and he bowed his head, "Fair enough," He held back the edge of a curtain that separated the booth into two rooms and waved a hand, "Shall we?"

Stiles took a deep breath before he ducked under the counter. He glanced at the man before stepping around the curtain. Once he passed into the back room, he gasped as he felt the air tingling around him, "What the hell?!"

"Relax! I just set up some simple noise wards. People can hear us talking but can't make out the words. A clever idea really. One of my favorites," The man smiled at Stiles again before clapping his hands together, "Now, the reason you are here."

He turned and began digging through a box, "Ah, here we go," He pulled out a long wooden case that shone like onyx, "This is why we both are here, yes?"

"Yes," Stiles breathed out, knowing instinctively that whatever was in that box is what his magic craved. He reached out slowly and carefully took hold of the box as it was handed to him.

Stiles lifted the lid and promptly gasped. Inside were the most wicked –in all definitions of the word- looking daggers that Stiles had ever seen. Which, okay granted, Stiles had never seen daggers outside of comics or movies but even still, they were impressive.

The handles of the two daggers, which were wrapped in worn leather and had finger grooves for easier gripping, were identical as were the runes that were etched into the blades, but those were the only similarities that showed them to be a set. One of the daggers was hooked like a scythe, with the runes running along the middle of the blade. The blade itself was about the width of Stiles palm at its widest and was probably the length of his forearm if he counted his hand.

The other one, Stiles had never seen anything like it. It was shaped like a crescent moon with the handle at the middle and two blades arcing out on each side. The blades weren't quite as wide as the first dagger, but they were far longer and tapered down to some pretty wicked points.

While he was staring at them, Stiles felt the tugging that had dragged him back here make one final jerk before it settled down. However, another peculiar feeling replaced the tugging and it took him a moment to realize that he was sensing the magic in the daggers, that the magic was twining with his.

"These, boy, are moon blades. Named for not only their shape but when they were made as well as their, well let's just saw, extra abilities. This particular set has been sitting in my families shop for many years, waiting for their next owner. The runes etched in the blades are the elements that make up the very foundation of a fae's magic."

Stiles stared at the daggers with wide eyes, "These are amazing. There's no other word for it. But," Stiles turned his gaze up to the man, "I can't afford them. These things have to cost a fortune!"

The man stared at Stiles for a long moment before he broke down in laughter, "Were you raised by humans boy? Fae weapons don't work that way! This is not a transaction. Those daggers are yours. I can hardly charge you for something that already belongs to you. I was just the keeper of them until you came along to claim them back. Now get out of here. I might as well make some actual money while I'm here."

Stiles did as bid and made his way back to the café in a haze. The blades chose him? Well, that supported what his aunt told him about his mom and her bow. It was a little depressing that he didn't get his mother's bow, that it didn't want him, but these daggers? Holy shit, he'd certainly take them over the bow, never mind that to use them he'd have to get a little up close and personal with whatever enemy he hoped to God he never had to face to use them.

His eyes met Allison's when he was still twenty feet from the table where she was trying to keep not only an eye out but a now awake five year old entertained. She raised an eyebrow at him before her gaze flickered down to the box he had grasped tightly under his arm. Surprise flit across her face and as soon as he was in hearing range she opened her mouth, "You left me up in arms with a five year old hyped on sugar so you could go shopping?"

Stiles winced. Oh boy was he in trouble.

* * *

Meranda stared down at the daggers in bemusement. Like the bow, she wasn't able to touch them, the magic surrounding the blades prevented anyone but Stiles even laying a finger on them, "Explain it to me again?"

Stiles sighed, "I was at the café, spending some time with a friend that I ran into when I felt a weird tugging on my magic. So I left Q with Allison and followed the pulling. I met an old man at a stall and he knew just by looking at me that these daggers were why I was there. They were why he was there too apparently. As soon as he pulled the box out I knew they were mine. That I was theirs -their next wielder. I swear, I could actually feel my magic binding to them."

Meranda hummed, "Well, it happens. It's just weird. With your coloring and how well you've taken to the potions and the potency you make them at, we figured that your magic was healing. You've made that back poultice better than dad. I think he was jealous to be honest," She trailed off with a small smile before shaking her head, "But this…"

She turned and gave him a considering look, "I wonder what else you can do."

Stiles had been thinking about this since he had said goodbye to Allison a few hours earlier. He didn't know what his limitations were, where everything would stop, but he had a theory, "Aunt Mer, remember how you said you didn't know what to expect from me because I was half human?"

"Of course," She said with a nod, "Why?"

"Well," Stiles started, "Could it be possible that I won't have a set trait because I _am _half human? I mean, humans are inherently fickle beings. Sure, some are good at one thing or another or really bad at something but for the most part, nearly everyone can do anything if they put their mind to it. Maybe that aspect of human nature has something to do with how my magic developed, especially since I did spend the first eighteen years living as a human…and a human with magically related ADHD at that."

Meranda stared at him with wide eyes before jumping to her feet. "I'll be right back," She said before all but flying out of the room.

Stiles frowned and stared after her, "Okay, not exactly the reaction I was expecting to that. At all."

Meranda was back a second later holding some books, "Hmm, did you say something?"

Stiles shook his head, "Not important. What are those?"

Meranda sat down next to him on the couch and laid the books in front of him, "I wasn't lying when I said that I didn't know what being half human would do to your fae side but the thing is? Your theory has been written about. The books just don't mention that human or other creatures were a part of it. There are actually accounts of some fairies that had abilities beyond the norm. Ones that had no trait set, despite family history.

"Two of these books are essentially their biographies. The third….well, one of the fairies is part of our family lore. This third book has been passed down generations. It's a book of spells. It's not widely used in our family, since healing and plants are our general traits and nearly three quarters of the spells are not aimed at those. We use the spells we need and can cast and generally ignore the rest…" She stared at Stiles, "I think you will be able to use every spell in this book, just like the fairy that wrote it. The one that I am now starting to suspect was a human hybrid as well."

Stiles made an interested noise at the back of his throat and flipped open the book. A quick glance at the first spell he ran across had him raising an eyebrow and he quickly scanned some more before turning to his aunt, "These are all ridiculously convoluted spells. I can't see them being useful in spur of the moment situations."

Meranda nodded, "Because they're not. Fairies magic, our magic, is mostly will based. Your wings are good example of that, remember the will you needed to make them still? Another is making that poultice. You needed to will your magic into it to help the ingredients meld together into a salve that would work, yes? Here, I will show you something," She stood up and went to a potted plant in the corner before motioning Stiles to join her, "Now, all fairies can use their magic in certain ways. Finding things is especially common, blocking out conversations or keeping others from listening in another. For me, and any other fae inclined to nurturing nature and growing things, this particular action is especially useful."

Meranda cupped her hands over the potted soil and closed her eyes. Stiles watched in amazement as her hands made a popping noise and a perfectly round and two inch deep hole appeared in the dirt, "Wow," He whispered.

"This has saved me a ton of time in the garden. With enough concentration, I can generally make about ten to fifteen holes at a time. Then I just drop the seeds in and will the dirt back over. Important, really, given the size of my gardens. If I wasn't able to do this, I would never be able to leave them. I can also weed the plants with my magic and even harvest some of them. Others cannot be harvested with magic so those I do by hand."

She waved her hand over the dirt and the hole closed up, "You try."

Stiles stared at her a moment before giving a short nod. He could do this. He had his new ability of concentration lately, even with his whirling thoughts. Stiles copied his aunt and cupped his hands over the dirt before closing his eyes and thought about what he wanted to do. Once he had that idea cemented, he called on his magic and willed it to do what he wanted. However, even though his magic responded, the noise his hands made was closer to a sonic boom than a pop. He was suddenly very afraid to open his eyes.

"Stiles," His aunt said, sounding vaguely amused.

Stiles cracked an eye open and looked at her before promptly falling over in laughter. Meranda was covered in potting soil and little pieces of plant from head to toe. What got him was the look on her face. She just looked so utterly bewildered that another glance at her sent him off into another wave of laughter, "What…" He took a deep breath, before letting out another chortle, "Oh my God, what happened?"

She rolled her eyes and ran her hands along her body, the dirt and plant bits falling away to the floor as she did, "I think you willed too much, baby boy. That is where control comes in. You want to think about planting a seed or a seedling, not a half grown tree."

Stiles giggled a few more times before he managed to rein in his amusement, "I just thought about digging a hole like yours."

"Mmm, good in theory not so much in practice. Specificity is the name of the game here. You need to be as specific as you can. Imagine trying to start a fire while camping. You have the pit ready, hold your hands out to start the fire, but if you don't make your idea as specific as possible, your will _will_ start the forest on fire."

Stiles hadn't considered that a possibility, "Oh dear."

Meranda nodded, "Exactly," She motioned at the next pot, "Try again."

* * *

The rest of that week was crazy busy for Stiles. In between working on his magical control with his aunt, he also spent time running errands for her and his grandfather, watching Quinton, making his dad meals for the following week, and reading the books his aunt had given him. When he wasn't doing all of that he was sleeping, because using his magic so much was incredibly exhausting. Seriously, he swore he hadn't slept so much since he was Quinton's age.

On the plus side, he had a sure fire way to cure his insomnia. Although, really, Stiles wasn't altogether too sure he _could_ count that as a plus. Sure, it was great being able to sleep, but Stiles had always used those intermittent hours that he was awake on homework and research.

The spell book that his aunt had given him had been pretty interesting, although with his life, highly impractical. The spells required not only concentration and will, but also ingredients, special circumstances like the new moon or winter solstice, and special equipment like a ceremonial dagger that had been blessed. There had been, however, one spell that had caught Stiles attention. It was a protective spell, one to add proximity alarms to properties. He knew his aunt and grandpa had one around their house, could feel the magic in it every time he crossed the border, but theirs didn't seem to be all that strong - more of a way to know if someone was coming, rather than to add any real protection.

It was a spell that would certainly come in handy back home and he decided Thursday morning that he would try it the following day, after his dad left. There was nothing in the spell that said a person had to be living on the premises in order for it to work. In fact, it would be great if that wasn't the case. He could think of so many places back home to use it on.

The last night his dad spent in Washington, Stiles was a bundle of nerves. The last week had been fantastic, despite being busy. He hadn't felt that dull ache in his chest once and he was so worried that once his dad was gone, the ache was going to return. On the flip side of that worry was anxiousness, because his dad had promised to get him Derek's number as soon as he walked in the door. Stiles only had a week left at his aunt's. He knew he couldn't put off talking to the werewolf any longer. He was just so very afraid of what he was going to find out.

So he passed the time trying to ignore the nerves, instigating a family game night, one that Quinton dominated until his bed time came around. It unnerved Stiles, sometimes, what his little cousin was capable of because no kid should ever be so ruthless at Hungry, Hungry, Hippos. After that, he and his family played a few rousing games of Smart Ass, a game that in all reality he and his grandfather shouldn't have played because of not only their unique ability to remember obscure facts about things but also that they both tended to get rather…competitive when it came to board games. It generally came down to them yelling out the answers at the end and taunting each other in between.

For the first time in two weeks, sleep did not come easily to Stiles. He spent the first couple of hours tossing and turning before he finally passed out – only to startle awake five hours later when he heard the shower turn on in the connecting bathroom that he shared with his dad. Right. His dad had a seven hour drive ahead of him. Stiles groaned at the thought that he still had something like twelve hours to wait before he could call Derek before climbing out of bed and traipsing downstairs.

His grandfather was sitting at the table, a cup of coffee in one hand and the newspaper in the other. Stiles bent over and pressed a kiss to his forehead, "Morning *Dziadek."

The older man gave him a soft smile, "Good morning, Mieczyslaw. Did you sleep well?"

Stiles shook his head and went to the cabinet to pull out the makings for pancakes. Might as well give his dad a full stomach now on something homemade, rather than clogging his arteries with more fast food than he actually needed. Which reminded Stiles; he should probably make his dad some sandwiches to eat as well for the ride back, "No."

"Well, it is only for one more week. We will try to keep you busy enough to keep the worry down, hm?"

Stiles laughed though the though inspired a latent fear in him. If they weren't actively keeping him busy before, what did that mean for the coming week? "Thanks Dziadek."

True to his word, once Stiles dad pulled out of the drive, he was put to work in the gardens. His aunt had him using every ounce of will he possessed to pull weeds and get the beds ready for spring planting – by his magic only. And as if that wasn't enough, his aunt would come out occasionally and inspect his hands to make sure they were clean of dirt. It was sort of embarrassing and totally the opposite of what most parents checked their kids for when making them work in a garden.

Except for lunch, his aunt didn't let up on him until his dad called ten hours later. Which was probably a good thing, because Stiles had been heading into panic attack mode at hour eight when no call had come in and had a minor one at hour nine. At nine and half hours, he had curled himself into a corner in the living room with the cordless phone, trying to keep himself from calling his dad. And only because he knew if he did and distracted the man while he drove, he would get an earful. His father was of the firm belief that if there were going to be cell phone laws then not only would he enforce them, but he would follow them as well.

"_Sorry son,_" John said, when the call finally came, "_There was an accident outside of Redding. I'm lucky I'm only three hours late. The rubbernecking was a bitch._"

Stiles winced, "No one was hurt were they?"

"_No ambulances or fire trucks present when I went through, but that doesn't always mean anything. You know that."_

"Yeah, I know."

"_Besides, I think it was a tire that blew and forced the car into the cement divider, going by the road debris. Most of the time lag was from the stupid rubberneckers I think." _

Yeah, if there was one thing his father hated, it was rubberneckers - the people who were dead curious on what was going on and slowed down to see. They tended to cause accidents on top of the accident that already occurred, "Awesome. Glad no one was hurt though. So, dad, my phone?"

"_Yeah, yeah, I have it in my hand. Okay, kid, you really need to password lock this thing. Especially now that I know what kind of stuff you've been getting into. If a hunter got a hold of this…_"

"I tried that! I could never remember the password or pass-code to get in and using something significant would be obvious to anyone. Besides, I have a code with the pack if I call without texting first so if someone accidentally happened to get a hold of my phone, no one would answer."

"_That's a pretty good idea, son. I'm glad someone thought of it. Okay, Derek's number is…" _

His dad rattled off the numbers and Stiles wrote them down, before biting his lip, "I'm not sure this is a good idea."

"_Call him, Stiles. I have thirty messages on the answering machine and…huh." _

"Huh? Huh what? Dad?"

"_Nothing. Nothing at all. Just…call him okay? If anything, just to let him know you're okay."_

Stiles made a frustrated noise at the back of his throat, "He knows I'm okay. They all know I'm okay. You told them like, a million times."

"_And I'm sure that he and they would prefer to hear it from you. I have Derek's number now, so when I call him in a few hours, he better be able to give me an honest yes when I ask him if he heard from you._"

"What do you mean when?" Stiles asked, slightly aghast, "Dad, I did not give you permission to break into my phone so you could steal Derek's number for yourself. Seriously, dad?!" He growled when the phone clicked in his ear and all he heard was a dial tone, "AUNT MER?! Where's your cell phone?!"

His dad sucked sometimes. That's all there was to it. So did his aunt, for that matter, because she just laughed at him and shooed him out of her office when he stormed in for her cell phone. With a sigh, he grabbed the scrap of paper with Derek's number and clomped outside. He was going to do this, then he was going to work on the proximity spell, and then he was going to crawl into bed and ignore the world for the rest of the night because the rest of the world had all gone nuts!

Stiles had found a little grove of trees at the southern end of the five acre lot when he first arrived, where he could hear the water moving in the inlet if he concentrated hard enough. He had found it pretty soothing and it had become his favorite relaxing spot away from everyone else. It was there that he found himself as he punched Derek's number into the cordless phone.

He held the receiver up to his ear and turned his gaze towards the house. About a second into the ringing, he hung up and then called again. He then did so a third time before letting the phone continue ringing. Except…he could hear…the caller tone he had programmed for himself on Derek's phone. Because damned if the theme song for Freakazoid didn't stand out. Plus, it had gotten a smile out of Derek, so Stiles had counted that as a win.

But…but…He hung up the phone and dialed again. Sure enough, Freakazoid blasted out from the woods. Stiles hung up and turned around, "Derek?"

There was a moment where Stiles thought he was imagining all of this, because he was still pretty sure he had hallucinated the week before, but then Derek was stepping out of a tight copse of trees, "Stiles."

Stiles gaped. What the ever loving hell?

TBC…

*Dzaidek = polish for grandfather.

a/n: I am not going to be going into other languages beyond Stiles name/Grandfather because…ugh, that's such a hassle and then you have to rely on translators and let's face it, not always accurate. Plus, I want good reviews/comments, not people correcting me on something that I don't even technically know.

Also….sorry.


	7. Chapter 7

See chapter one for disclaimer and summary

A/N: Thank you, everyone, for the comments and the reads and just everything. I write for myself, but I love posting out there for others to read and to know you all like it is awesome. Thanks as well to my beta She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Sane whose insight and help is so appreciated, you have no idea.

Also, since you got the last one late, have this one early.

Onwards and enjoy!

* * *

"I didn't think it was possible for you to be quiet for more than ten seconds."

Which, that was totally a goad into getting him to say something because he was probably freaking Derek out by not talking but Stiles had far too many questions and not enough answers flying around in his head and all of them were trying to get out at once and it was causing something of a road block in his brain to mouth non-filtered tunnel. The first of which was, "Why is my aunt's number programed into your phone under me? Wait, why do you even have it?" Oh, hey, look, a question made it through the traffic jam. Two questions even. He had hopes for this jam, he really did.

Derek shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets, "It has been since you left. I got the number from the sheriff."

"Um," Stiles squinted, manfully ignoring the part about his dad for now. He would get back to that later when the rest of the block cleared out, "Okay? Another question and perhaps I should have led with this one. Why are you here?"

"You left."

Stiles nodded slowly, "Yes, yes I did. But that? Was not an answer to the question I just asked. So, again, _why are you here?_"

"Yes, Stiles, that is the answer to the question," Derek said with a sigh that only Stiles seemed to force out of him, "You left without a word to anyone right after I felt the link that bonded you to the pack break. So when I had the chance to find you, I took it because I needed to know what the hell was going on."

Stiles suddenly recalled his aunt's words after he thought he had hallucinated Derek that first time, '_You were human until now. Think about that._' And to be honest, Stiles hadn't. Thought about it, that is. Because he couldn't understand the connection between what his aunt was trying to say and what happened. Not at the time when he was still caught up in the grief over Jackson and his whole world purview being turned on its head. Now though, thinking about those words with a mostly clear though incredibly confused head, he knew exactly what she meant, "Holy shit, you mean I really was a part of the pack?"

Derek blinked before his eyebrows drew in in confusion, "You were. Did you not know? I understand that humans can't generally feel what we can but-"

"Uhm," Stiles interrupted, scrubbing his hands along his jeans. This was it. This was the conversation that Allison and his dad and everyone else wanted him to have with Derek and now that it was here, he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to have it. Because Derek was going to wolf out on him and Stiles may have some protection against wolves now thanks to the mountain ash his aunt made him keep on him, but Jackson, Scott, and Isaac were going to have a few limbs torn from their bodies and Stiles didn't want that even if Jackson was a cockwomble and Scott and Isaac didn't always think, "Well…I had thought, uh hoped, I was."

"But you didn't believe it."

"I…did," Stiles said slowly.

Derek growled, "Then why did you leave without saying anything?"

Stiles almost growled back in frustration before he remembered that he was a freaking fairy, not a werewolf, "You want to know why?" Stiles shrugged off his flannel and pulled his t-shirt over his head just in time for his wings to pop out of his back, "This is why! And along with these pretty, pretty wings I also have senses that when they first showed up I couldn't control!

"It was like Scott back in September all over again. I went from eighteen years of thinking I was human, not knowing there was anything else to _be _and then werewolves showed up in my life and somehow out of this ragtag group of people assembled around me I was one of the only humans. I was proud of that and that I was able to help in a way that didn't require growing extra body parts!

"Then this happened and I went to school and Jackson ran his fucking mouth and I thought about all the times I annoyed you, that Erica sneered and growled at me, that Boyd ignored me and yes, I ran the fuck away because I wasn't ready to deal with that shit. I'm still not. The fact that Scott and Isaac agreed with Jackson was just icing on the fucking cake. Because apparently, no matter what _you_ think, no one else seems to want me around," Stiles slumped his shoulders once the last word was out, like that rant was all that had been holding him straight and tall, just waiting to get out.

"Stiles-"

"Look, I didn't break the bond on purpose, I didn't even know it was there to begin with," Stiles said tiredly, looking up at Derek who was staring back through wide eyes, "If you recall, I talked to Scott the night it happened, told him I had the flu. I didn't leave until the next day."

Derek all but rolled his eyes, "I figured that part out."

Stiles wanted to throw his arms up in the air and just cry in frustration. Sometimes it was like talking in circles with Derek and this was one whopper of a circle, "If you figured all of that out, then why are you asking?"

"Because knowing when is not the same as knowing why. I also needed to know if you were okay. I had an idea, I remember your mom, but like you said Stiles - human for eighteen years. I didn't think I was right and your dad wasn't saying anything," Derek paused before his eyes narrowed, "What did Jackson say?"

"He-" Stiles bit his lip, "Does it really matter?"

"Yes, of course it matters."

Stiles sighed and looked over Derek's shoulder, not wanting to see the anger or sneering that was sure to come, "I heard Scott asking if anyone had seen me yet that morning and Jackson chimed in that no one cared where I was, that I was probably milking the flu thing. Then he went on to say that the pack meeting that Sunday had been the best one he had ever been to, that they had time to do something fun that night for a change because I wasn't around to run my mouth and make the meeting last longer," Stiles scratched at the back of his neck, "He followed that up by saying that he was going to talk to you about me not coming to the meetings anymore because I wasn't pack anyway."

"And that made you run away. Jackson being his normal ass made you run away." And there it was. Boy, did Derek have his skeptical voice down pat. It would be impressive if the conversation were any different.

"It was a culmination thing, okay? I was already in a weird place as it was and like I told you, Scott and Isaac agreed with him. Plus, other than Scott, none of them really like me. It wasn't too hard to make that kind of leap."

"Did Scott and Isaac actually say anything?"

"No and that's kind of the point. They may not have verbally agreed with him, but they didn't disagree either," Stiles replied. His body gave a shiver and goose bumps broke out over his skin. It was then that he remembered that he had whipped his shirts off in a fit of pique and was standing there talking to Derek half naked.

He shivered again and frowned. That…that wasn't a cold shiver. That was the shiver he got whenever someone without Vista blood crossed the border of the property. And given that Derek was still standing at the property line, then…

Stiles frowned. It was nothing to worry about, he was sure of it. His aunt had plenty of friends that liked to drop by and were pretty much the reason for the alarms anyway, to give his family a chance to hide anything of the supernatural variety before any humans made it to the front door. He ignored the voice at the back of his head telling him something was wrong, knowing that it was just paranoia at that fact that there had been very few visitors since he had arrived.

"Where were you when-" Derek cut himself off and his eyes snapped towards the direction of the house, his head cocking sideways. He was silent for a moment and Stiles glanced over his shoulder at the house that was mostly hidden by fir trees, "Stiles, do you know anyone named Alex?"

"Alex? No, not...personally…oh, oh shit," Stiles pulled his wings into his back and began struggling into his t-shirt, "That's Quinton's sperm donor."

He had one arm through the shirt and was fighting with the second even as he turned to head back to the house. He hadn't made it a step before a scream echoed out from the house. Stiles paused, his eyes widening as shock and panic slammed through him, "No, no, no…"

"Stiles, come on!" Derek said, grabbing the edge of Stiles t-shirt to yank it on the rest of the way, before changing his grip and dragging him forward.

Stiles stumbled but started running after Derek once he caught his footing. No, there was no way this could be happening. Not now. Why did this kind of crap seem to happen to him and his family? He picked up speed and managed to keep pace with Derek who had wolfed out into his Alpha form which, Stiles noted distantly, looked nothing like Peter's. Derek looked more like an oversized wolf than a crazy, twisted version of one.

The two slammed into the house just in time to see a large, large man twist himself into a midnight colored horse. Derek let out a sound that was more roar than howl and threw himself at the man…horse…kelpie thing, who let out a taunting neigh and danced out of Derek's way. Stiles stumbled around the edge of the room, climbing on furniture to stay out of their way so he could reach his aunt.

He found her in her office, half under her desk like she had just been tossed there like yesterday's garbage. The panic he had felt when he heard her scream turned into full blown out terror at the sight of her, "Aunt Mer! Please, no, please be okay."

He ran his hands over her face before looking down at her body. Her shirt had been half ripped away and there was…Stiles gagged when he saw part of her insides not inside her body where they should have been. He didn't know if he could heal this. He hadn't done any physical healing, hadn't needed to, and he thought – rather hysterically- that potions just weren't going to do the trick this time.

Stiles tried pressing some of her insides back into her, but they kept sliding out and Stiles didn't know what to do. He took a breath and all but yanked his magic forward, willing it to heal his aunt.

"Stiles…please….don't…"

Stiles whipped his head around at her soft, pain filled whisper and he tried to hold back the whimper when he saw her eyes half-mast and the blood on her lips as she coughed, "Aunt Mer, please, let me…"

"No!" She said, as harshly as she could, "It will kill you and not save me," She coughed and more blood pooled around her mouth, "Take care of Quin. Promise me."

"Aunt Mer…"

She scrabbled at his arm and gripped it weakly, "Promise me," She said again, her voice stronger like she was using the last of her energy to form the words.

Stiles sniffed and nodded jerkily, "I promise. I promise Aunt Mer, I swear."

She let out a little sigh before coughing again, "He will be safe then," She whispered before what little grip she had on him went totally lax.

"Oh God!" Stiles bent over and buried his head at her neck, hoping to hear a heartbeat, something. There was no movement though, nothing to show she was still alive, that there was still hope. Stiles pulled away with a sob before he turned and threw up.

There was a hand at the back of his neck in the next moment, urging him away from his aunt and the mess he had made. Stiles followed the guiding numbly and startled when he felt cold water rushing over his hands. He looked up and saw Derek standing next to him in nothing but a few rags left from his clothes tearing. Stiles gulped and looked away. Now was so _not_ the time to be admiring that view. At all. Not when…Stiles pushed away that train of thought and focused on Derek's voice when the Lycan started to speak to him softly.

"I called 911, told them a non-supernatural version of what happened. The police and paramedics are on their way. They will want to talk to you," Derek said. He wiped at Stiles face in silence for a few moments before he asked, "What was he? Shape shifter?"

Stiles cleared his throat before shaking his head, "Kelpie."

"Right, horse into man and vice versa."

"Yeah. Quinton was…was…" Stiles eyes grew wide, "Oh shit, Q!" He yanked his hands from Derek's and ran for the stairs, taking them two at a time. He flew into Quinton's bedroom, but the five year old wasn't in his bed where he had been left hours before, "Q? Quinton?!"

There was a sniffle and then a scared, softly whispered floated to him, "Stiles?"

Quinton's voice came from the general vicinity of the floor, which meant under the bed, and Stiles dropped to his knees to look under. Quinton was wrapped around a teddy bear that was bigger than him, his green eyes wet with tears and his face red and blotchy and snot covered, "Oh, Q-bean," Stiles whispered, using the nickname from when Quinton was a baby, "Can you come out for me?"

Quinton whimpered and clutched the bear tighter, before shaking his head, "No. Bad man."

Stiles gave a reassuring, if small, smile, "The bad man is gone. My friend chased him off. Do you remember the name Derek?"

"Your friend from home."

"That's right. He came here to talk to me and he fought the bad man for us," Stiles spread his knees to hold his weight before holding out his arms, "Come on out buddy."

Quinton stared at him for a moment longer before he pushed the bear out from under the bed and then followed it out. He climbed to his feet before all but teleporting into Stiles arms. He wrapped little arms tight around Stiles neck and buried his face, "Mama?"

Stiles frowned and dropped down to sit on the floor. Quinton hadn't called Meranda mama in years. He wasn't sure how he liked the regression and what Stiles was about to tell him was likely to make it worse, "Your mom," Stiles said, tightening his arms, "Your mom died, Quinton, saving you."

There was a beat of silence and then Quinton started wailing. It was the cry of a boy who had seen death, knew what it meant, that his mom was never coming back. Quinton's little body started shaking and small hands gripped into the flesh of Stiles upper back and Stiles didn't know what to do. Didn't know how to calm down a child from learning his parent had died because he had been so much older than Quinton was now and had never gotten over his moms death, never would, but this…he gave in to the grief welling in him and buried his face into Quinton's neck to cry along with his little cousin.

Fifteen minutes is what it took for Quinton to cry himself to sleep. Stiles knew it was a brief respite and that he would have to find out what he could to help is cousin grieve. He wished that he had a way to contact his grandfather, who had left earlier in the afternoon to head back to the Cascades. He knew that his dad was down as Quinton's guardian in case anything were to happen, but he didn't know how anything worked, if he could just take Quinton and run back home.

Stiles was startled from his thoughts when a piece of cloth was pressed to his face. He looked up and saw Derek crouching next to them, now dressed in one of Stiles t-shirts and overly baggy sweatpants, a solemn look on his face as he cleaned Stiles up…again. This was becoming a thing and Stiles wasn't sure how he felt about that. After a moment, Derek switched to Quinton, carefully wiping at the mess on the boy's face, his touch light to keep from waking him.

"The police are downstairs," Derek said after a minute or two, "Are you up to talking to them?"

Stiles gave a stilted nod, "Yes. Let's get this over with."

He climbed to his feet, Derek's hand a steady support under his arm, and carefully walked down to the living room, ignoring the paramedics scrambling around in the office. He nodded at the two officers sitting on the love seat before carefully situating himself across from them.

The two men looked at him with kind eyes and Stiles relaxed slightly. The older of the two gave a brief, if pained smile, "I'm Officer Michaels and this is my partner, Officer Desotell. Can you tell us what happened?"

"Yeah," Stiles shifted Quinton a bit to get more comfortable, "I was out at the edge of the woods, talking with my friend Derek," Stiles waved a hand to where Derek was standing, "We had only been out there for about twenty minutes or so, maybe a little longer, when I heard my aunt scream. We both ran to the house and saw a man standing just outside her office. Derek started fighting him and I ran to my aunt. She was," Stiles swallowed heavily at the thought of what he saw, "She was still alive when I found her, but she was coughing up so much blood and her insides were just…out, everywhere. She asked me to take care of Quinton and then she was just…gone. Derek found me a few minutes later and told me that the guy had run off."

Desotell nodded as he wrote, "Do you know who the man was?"

"Yeah," Stiles winced as his voice cracked. He felt the cushion next to him dip and an arm wrap around his shoulders as Derek joined him on the couch, "Yes, it was Quinton's father. My aunt," He took a shuddery breath, "My aunt left him before she even knew she was pregnant. He was…not a nice man. She never told me much about him."

"How about a name?"

Stiles shrugged, "Just his first. His name is Alex. Not sure if it's a nickname or not. He's- He's a big man, tall and very muscular, white. Dark black hair…" Stiles trailed off and met the cops slightly incredulous faces before he snorted, "Cop kid, I knew you were going to ask. He's not from around here either. Meranda did say that he was from somewhere along the coast in California. It's why she moved up here to live with my grandfather. She didn't want to chance running into him."

Michaels looked up, "Your grandfather lives here as well?"

"Yeah, it's his house."

"Where is he?"

Stiles shrugged at that, "I don't know, not really. He left earlier to go back up to the Cascade's. He's a doctor and works with the families that live up in the mountains. And the old man doesn't like technology, so he never has a phone with him."

"Cascade range is huge, we'd never track him down. We'll keep an eye on the house, wait for him to return. Thank you, you've been very helpful. Is there any where you can stay? This is an active crime scene, so…" Desotell trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

"We can, uh, stay at a hotel tonight, but…do we need to stay in town? I'm not from here, just visiting."

The two officers looked at each other before turning back to Stiles, "No, but we will need contact information for you," Michaels said before nodding at Quinton, "Is this Quinton, her son?"

"Yes?"

"Do you know if there is any other-"

Stiles interrupted him, knowing where he was going. He grew up around cops, he knew the protocol, "I'm going to take him with me. My dad is down as his guardian in case anything happened to Aunt Meranda. Grandpa is too old to raise another child," He gave a small shrug.

Both men nodded and stood, "Does she keep paper work around? We'll need to verify that. If everything checks out, we'll talk to your father and you'll be free to go."

"Uhm," Stiles shrugged again, ready for this conversation to be over with, "If she kept anything at the house, it would be in her office. She has a firebox under her desk that she kept her work drives and papers in."

"Okay. We'll check that out. Thank you again. We'll give you some time to pack. Let us know when you're leaving so we can get numbers from you," Michaels reached out and shook Stiles and then Derek's hands before following his partner out of the room.

Stiles turned to Derek with wide eyes and whispered somewhat harshly in his worry, "Derek, Quinton's father is a fricking Kelpie! If he knows about Q, how the hell do we keep him safe? My dad can only do so much!"

Derek frowned and tightened his grip around Stiles shoulders, "We'll protect him, don't worry."

TBC…


	8. Chapter 8

See chapter one for disclaimer and summary

A/N: Thank you, everyone, for the comments and the reads and just everything. Thanks as well to my beta She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Sane whose insight and help is so appreciated, you have no idea.

Onwards and enjoy!

* * *

The drive back to Beacon Hills on Saturday was mostly quiet. Derek spent much of the seven hours with his face tense and his fingers clenched around the wheel. He always seemed on the edge of growling whenever they had to stop for gas or bathroom breaks. Quinton slept fitfully in the back, never able to fall in to a deep sleep, always waking up screaming for his mom now that he didn't have his cousin and the Alpha to cuddle him like they had done the night before. And Stiles? Well, Stiles was still dealing with the fact that he had held his aunt's insides, that she had died such a pointless death, that another person in his life was just…gone.

When he had talked to his dad the night before, to talk to him about Quinton and guardianship –because there was no point in talking about another death so dear to them with six hundred miles between them- Stiles had had a breakdown of epic proportions, because how could he do this? How could he help his dad raise a little boy, one who would be looking for his mom around every corner? His dad had talked him down with quiet reassurances while Derek held him and crooned into his other ear, so unlike the Sourwolf that Stiles had met almost eight months ago that it made Stiles tremble in wonder and maybe even fall a little bit in love with him.

And now…now Stiles had a little boy to protect from a threat that may or may not be there. He and Derek had speculated long into the night on whether the kelpie knew about Quinton, whether he had seen the little boy or heard the movements of a scared child hiding from monsters above him. They never did decide on an answer, but figured it was best to act as if the kelpie knew. It would be safer. It also meant that Stiles wasn't just going to have to learn how to control his magic but also how to use it…both offensively and defensively because he'd be damned if something happened to his little cousin because he still couldn't do anything more than make big holes and potions.

Stiles sighed and stared out the window, watching as the trees passed by. This close to home, barely half an hour out, and Stiles could feel the embarrassment and anxiety that had plagued him in only short bursts for two weeks start to flood back in to mix with the confusion and grief. He felt his breathing hitch and then hitch again. He pulled uselessly at a seat belt that was suddenly feeling far too constricting.

He reached out and scrambled for purchase on Derek's arm, "Stop," He gasped, "Please stop. Can't…breathe…"

Then the tingling in his fingers started, slow and determined. It spread up his arms and centered around his chin, nose, cheeks, and mouth - a sign that his body was demanding oxygen. He tried to breathe slowly but the panic was already there, already had a tight grip on his mind. Then his breaths became skewed and deep as his body tried to pull air in, hyperventilation hitting and hitting hard.

He didn't feel the car slow down and stop, nor did he hear Derek's concerned voice next to him. He barely felt the release of the seatbelt and the werewolf pulling him out of the car to sit on the ground with his head between his legs. A warm weight draped over his back and it was then that he heard Derek's voice, "Come on Stiles, just breathe. You're okay, relax…that's it, match my breathing. Slowly, slowly…come on now."

Stiles concentrated on the movement of the chest at his back and forced himself to focus enough to match the in and out movement of Derek's breathing, like he had done with his dad years ago before they found that drawing worked so much better. The tingling receded slowly, only to be replaced by the normal shaking and tight chest, "Oh, oh shit, that sucked," Stiles gasped, leaning back into Derek.

"Better?" Derek asked, rubbing at Stiles arms.

Stiles took another shaky breath, "Yeah, yeah, better."

He felt Derek nod and pull away, just as a car pulled up behind them. Derek stood and went to meet the driver and Stiles buried his hands in his face. That had been embarrassing, but Stiles was somewhat grateful that it had happened so close to home, when he only had to spend a little time with Derek afterwards. Because right now he wanted nothing more than to bury his head in the sand and hide for a few hours. It was all ridiculous.

Especially now that he knew what had changed and what hadn't at home. He was worried about how Scott would react when he saw him. He was embarrassed at the fact that he had thrown a teenager equivalent of a temper tantrum that lasted weeks, that it would be so obvious that's what it was to the others in the pack, the ones that barely tolerated him. He knew the looks of condescension he was going to be getting when he returned, and he would be returning for the most part, if only for Scott and apparently Derek who wanted him there.

He still wasn't too sure if he would be bonding himself to the pack again, now that this time the decision was on his shoulders and not Derek's, but that was still a ways off because he had read that spell and it was one of the ones that required special timing and equipment – new moon, ceremonial daggers, and special wine that he would have to make with his magic. Since they were coming up on the full moon in five days, Stiles still had some time to make that decision and plan accordingly. At least moon phases were easier to plan around than solstices. The wine would be awkward, needing to be made the night of the full moon, but he figured he could make it and store it until needed, as the magic wouldn't fade.

Now that he was somewhat calm and thinking as rationally as was possible for him, Stiles climbed to his feet and wrapped his arms around his chest. He turned to look at the back of the car, where Derek was now watching him. Stiles gave him a nod, which was returned, and climbed into the car. A few seconds later, Stiles heard the trunk open and close. He glanced at the driver door as Derek got in and promptly had a bottle of water shoved in his face.

"Thanks," He said, taking it and twisting the cap off. He downed most of it in one go, making a face at the warmth of it because ew, water was never that good after sitting in a black car for who knows how long. He closed the bottle and set it down by his feet before twisting around to check on Quinton.

Quinton was sitting in his booster, staring at Stiles with sad eyes, framed by wetly clumped lashes, and a thumb buried deep in his mouth, "Oh Q," He murmured, sad that his cousin had to witness that, "You thirsty buddy?"

Quinton nodded slowly and Stiles reached down and grabbed the bottle from the floor. He waited until Derek had merged back with the traffic and the ride was smooth before passing it back. He then turned and began digging through the shopping bag at his feet, pulling out a box of animal crackers. He opened those and passed the box back. Quinton made a small noise around the thumb tucked back in his mouth and took the box carefully. Stiles let out a small smile before facing front again.

As he was doing so, he noticed an odd look on Derek's face, "What?"

Derek shrugged and glanced at the rearview mirror, "Nothing. You're good with him."

Stiles gave a dry laugh, "I'm good with all children. It's because I can be their age mentally when I want to."

"No," Derek shook his head, "I mean, he trusts you," Derek glanced at him, "Even with what happened, he still trusts you to take care of him and you do without hesitating. That's different than just being good with children."

"Derek…" Stiles didn't know what to say to that. Because, what had Derek seen in his life that caused him to be surprised at Stiles just…loving his little cousin? Stiles was pretty sure he wasn't doing anything different than most would do, but then again, Stiles was only eighteen. How many eighteen year old boys stepped up to watch and care for someone so young? Maybe that's what Derek meant.

Either way, it was clear by Derek's expression that that line of conversation was over, though the older man did grace him with a small smile, one that Stiles saw so very rarely. It was the one that made his heart flutter and given that he was in a car with a werewolf, so totally not cool _at all_. And given that the small smile transformed in to a smirk, Stiles was pretty sure Derek had either known or just clued in to what Stiles was going through.

"Jerk," He muttered, looking back out the window.

When they reached the edge of town, Derek spoke up, "Tomorrow you are going to go see Deaton."

"Why?" Stiles asked, suddenly wary, "There's nothing wrong with me. And even if there was, I'm not an animal."

"Stiles," Derek said, kind of harshly, "Don't play dumb. You're only two weeks into being a fae/human hybrid that was training under a full fairy that just died. You are going to need the help and Deaton is the best one to do that. Even if your aunt hadn't died, I would be sending you to Deaton. Half breeds of any species are usually different than full."

They pulled up Stiles driveway and Derek put the car in park before shutting down the engine. He turned to Stiles, "Promise me."

"What? Why do I need to promise?"

Derek stared at him a moment before leaning in close and flashing his teeth, "Because if you don't, I'll rip your throat out."

Stiles stared back at him, heart hammering but not out of fear. God, no, that was so not fear. Stiles had to get out of this car _now_, "Fine, fine, I promise," He gulped and scrambled for the door handle, "I'll go see Deaton tomorrow, once everything is settled."

Derek nodded and leaned back to open his own door, "Before. You are going to go see Deaton before we have the pack meeting. Also, bring Quinton. The pack needs to get used to his smell."

Stiles watched him get out of the car and turned to bang his head on the dash with a whimper. This was just going to suck. So very, very much.

* * *

Stiles started out of his sleep, blinking his eyes as he wondered what woke him. It hadn't been nightmares, he hadn't been out long enough for that. He looked down at Quinton, who was curled in his arms. The boy was sleeping soundlessly and Stiles patted around his bottom to see if perhaps he had wet the bed, but all was dry. With a frown, he glanced around the room, only to jerk when he saw Scott sitting on his windowsill.

Stiles climbed out of bed carefully, spreading the blankets back down over Quinton when the five year old murmured quietly. When Stiles was sure he was settled, he turned to face his friend, only to find himself pulled into wiry arms. After a moment, he wrapped his own arms around Scott's back and buried his face into the hair warmed neck next to his face.

They spent long moments just standing there, neither saying a word. Finally, Scott pulled away, only to press his forehead against Stiles, "Don't…"

"Scott?"

Scott shook his head, "Please don't do that again."

"Okay," Stiles said with a nod, "I'm sorry." Though he didn't exactly know which part he was apologizing for; that he, like a child throwing a tantrum, ran away to avoid any confrontations or that he had let slip his insecurities about his place in the pack through his actions.

Scott tightened his arms before letting them drop and he stepped back. Stiles shivered at the sudden lack of werewolf heat and went to his closet to grab out a hoodie. He slid it on before turning back to his best friend, only to find Scott staring at Quinton in confusion, "Stiles?"

Stiles sighed and grabbed one of the two baby monitors off of the nightstand before nodding his head towards the door to urge Scott to follow him. The baby monitors had been his dad's idea after they had read that young children grieved differently and that many could become prone to nightmares and bedwetting, especially after a parent died. With as much as Quinton loved to sleep, it seemed prudent.

When they reached the kitchen, Stiles set about pulling out the makings for hot chocolate. He had just put the pot on the stove when Scott cleared his voice, "Stiles, why is Quinton here?"

Stiles sighed and pressed his hands against the stove, his head dropping down as his eyes closed. He had known the question was coming, but the pain was still raw, "Aunt Meranda was killed, late Friday afternoon."

"What? How? Were you there?"

Stiles pushed himself upwards and scrubbed his face before turning to the cabinet where he hid the good chocolate, the dark stuff that was actually good for his dad in moderate amounts, "Yeah, it was Quinton's father. Aunt Mer always said he had been abusive and overly possessive. You, um, probably don't want to know how. It was bad."

Stiles began grating the chocolate down, realizing rather quickly what a great way that was to take his anger and frustration out and so started frantically running the chocolate up and down, only stopping when he grated his fingers in the process. He turned the chunk of chocolate sideways and started again. This time, Scott was there to stop him before his fingers hit the metal. When Stiles blinked at him, Scott gave him a small smile, "I prefer my hot chocolate non-bloody. It's a thing."

"Ha ha," Stiles said, grabbing the shavings and dropping them into the pot. He accepted the milk Scott handed him and poured some out before handing it back. Stiles then grabbed some spices from the cabinet as he stirred, adding pinches of this and that as the chocolate melted into the rapidly warming milk. Just as it started to bubble, ready to foam up and over the edge, Stile pulled the pot from the burner and poured the liquid into the two mugs Scott had out. It was a process that the two of them had down pat by now and even though it had been months since they had had hot chocolate together, Stiles was still warmed by the fact that they were still able to do it without any stumbles.

Scott took the mugs to the table while Stiles rinsed the pot before joining him at the island. When they were both sitting, Scott broached the topic that had probably been brimming over in his mind for the last two weeks, "Why'd you leave?" He shook his head, "I knew you were going to your aunts, but…you left early and without saying anything. Why?"

Stiles stared down at his hot chocolate like it should hold all of the answers to all of life's questions. With a sigh, he let go of his mug and sat back, reaching for his zipper, "The first thing I want to tell you is that I never ever lied to you. Well…not about this."

"Uhm," Scott stared at him with wide eyes that made him look like a puppy with his crooked jaw and floppy hair, "Okay?"

Stiles nodded, somewhat sharply, and unzipped his hoody. He pulled it off and tossed it onto the island before yanking off his shirt as well. As soon as it was clear of his head, he willed his wings out. Which, given that Scott's eyes looked like they were about to bug out, must have looked pretty impressive, "Scott?"

"_Wings_," Scott squeaked out, "_glowing…_"

"Oh," Stiles glanced over his shoulder, "Yeah, they tend to do that. I have to work on controlling that. It would be a pretty big inconvenience at night if I'm trying to stay hidden."

"Incon…what?" Scott asked, eyes still wide. It was kind of giving Stiles a complex.

"Oh come on. What, only you can be a supernatural creature around here?"

That seemed to snap Scott out of whatever weird trance he'd been in, "What? No! Of course not! Stiles, I would never think that. What are you?" He asked, his voice hushed, like he was afraid John was going to rush into the room at his voice only to find his son glowing. Hah, wasn't Scott in for a shock on that front. Poor boy would probably have a heart attack if he was still capable of it once he learned that the sheriff was well aware of what they had been getting up to.

"My mom was a fairy but my dad is still human. I'm a hybrid. It all kind of manifested that Sunday morning when I told you I had the flu. All the magic forcing its way through the human barriers caused me to, well, turn blue and ache like hell. It wasn't pretty."

Scott's eyes suddenly narrowed, "So you did lie to me."

Stiles rolled his eyes, "Only about that. And while we are on the subject of lying, let's have a little talk about Monday and the reason I left early."

"What are you talking about? I didn't even see you Monday," Scott said, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"No, that's because I didn't make it past the school doors. I heard a lovely conversation, thanks to my hearing which was glitching at the time. Does 'he's not pack anyway' sound familiar?"

"No? Why would it?"

Stiles stared at him, wishing he had thought to crank his hearing up to tell if Scott was lying. Although, going by the set jaw and still furrowed brows, Scott might actually be telling the truth which…wait, what? "Scott, I overheard you talking with Jackson and Isaac Monday morning. Jackson was talking about how fun the pack meeting had been. I heard you interrupt him and he interrupted you right back."

"Yeah, yeah, that happened. But Isaac and I walked away after he got done talking about how you tended to ramble. I didn't want to hear what he was planning on adding to that," Scott paused before his eyes widened and his eyebrows jumped in shock, "He said you weren't pack?"

Stiles nearly flinched when the last words came out as a growl, "Yeah."

And in amazing proof that Scott wasn't dumb, he managed to put two and two together into a four that made Stiles want to crawl under the table and die, because that was a look he never wanted to see on Scott's face ever again. It looked an awful lot like betrayal, "You didn't think…I thought you trusted me Stiles."

"Of course I do! I never stopped, not even after that. It's just…" Stiles sighed and gripped his hair, "It wasn't a matter of trust. I wasn't even mad at you or anything. I was mad at _myself_ because I thought at the time that I had made horrible assumptions about the pack and my place in it. I was embarrassed, and yeah I was hurt because I couldn't figure out why you wouldn't tell me, but in the end it was all on me. I ran because I thought I needed time to not only get control of the fairy thing, but that I would need it to get my head around the fact that I had been deluding _myself._"

Scott's head tipped to the side, "So what changed? Because you're talking an awful lot in past tense, so you obviously know better now."

"Well, Aunt Meranda for one, though I didn't realize it at the time. I, um," Stiles bit his lip before sucking in a breath, "I ran into Allison," He breathed out, ready to jump and console his friend in case the waterworks Scott had been prone to all of February started back up again.

"Oh?" Scott perked up, but there was not a tear in sight. It was pretty amazing, "How is she? What did she say?"

Stiles smiled, though it was mostly out of relief, "She's fine. Still finding her footing at her new school. Apparently there is not a Lydia Martin there to drag her under her wing. She was up in Tacoma with her dad for a conference and we ran into each other shopping. She, uh, told me to get my head out of my ass and talk to Derek, because teenage boys were not only idiots but that in general, bitten wolves might not know that it was possible for humans to be bound to the pack. Oh, and that if Derek was starting to trust _her_ more then I was already in, because six months had nothing on sixteen years."

Scott, who had been nodding along to most of what Stiles was saying, let out a big grin, "She is so insightful! And I'm glad she's doing good."

Stiles squinted at him, "You do know she basically insulted you, Isaac, and Jackson yes? Because she was sticking up for me?"

"Well, yeah, but it's true. Granted more so for Jackson, but for all of us. I just assumed you were pack, you know. It takes a lot of trust with an Alpha for a beta to feel all of the pack bonds. We're getting there, but we're not there yet. And Jackson probably never will be. He just can't handle being told what to do."

Stiles shook his head with a smile, "Well, it doesn't matter anyway. I'm actually _not_ pack anymore. I was, but Derek said the link broke that Sunday when the fae magic took over."

And there were the puppy dog eyes again. Shit, had Scott been practicing that look in a mirror or something? Because Stiles didn't quite remember them being that potent and it had only been two weeks, "So you can't be pack anymore?"

"I never said that. But a fairy can only bond to a werewolf pack with magic. So this time it's on me, not Derek, to become a part of the pack."

"Oh, good. So you're going to right? 'Cause Derek's been kind of weird. He was all kinds of nuts that Sunday and none of us knew why, like he regressed back to when we met him. Then, when we met up for training on Wednesday, he was kind of resigned and just looked worried. Then he told me Friday that I was in charge of the pack for the next few weeks and took off. I had hoped it was to go after you. I was glad I was right."

The boys exchanged smiles before Stiles dropped his, "I don't know Scott. Maybe…maybe just an alliance is safer. I mean, you and Derek are the only ones that want me in the pack anyway."

"That's not true!"

"Shh," Stiles hissed, glancing at the monitor. When nothing but a soft snore came through, he looked back at Scott, "It kind of is."

Scott shook his head, "No, Isaac does too. He's been like a, like a kicked puppy the past two weeks. It's been kind of sad, really. Jackson's just a douche. And anyway, I think what Derek thinks is what matters. If he wants you in the pack, it shouldn't matter at all what Jackson thinks."

"It's not just Jackson, Scott. Erica and Boyd don't even like me. Erica _growls_ at me whenever I'm around," Scott blushed at that and Stiles leaned back warily, "What?"

"Well…it's just been…kinda _obvious_ lately that you've gotten over Lydia."

"_What_?" Stiles asked, his voice coming out in a weird mix of stilted and deadpan at that.

Scott waved a hand, "You…around Derek. Erica has…had…a thing for him, well, more hero worship thing, cause he gave her power? She thinks she had a claim staked on him of something because of how he acted when he bit her. She's been just as nuts when you were gone. Worry the first week and then when Derek left, she kind of spilled everything because she got so angry. We have her pretty much straightened out now. The growling should stop."

"That's not…that's not at all reassuring dude," Stiles gasped, "Oh my God, that means that Derek probably really does know. I thought he was just fucking with me in the car. Well, he was, but I didn't think he really _knew_, you know?"

Scott winced, "Sorry, bro."

Stiles sighed. Didn't that totally figure. Not that it mattered anyway in the long run. What the hell would Derek see in him anyway? Besides, Stiles was used to pining even with the other person aware. See example A: Lydia Martin. But unlike Lydia, Derek had been throwing small actions out there, enough to keep the hope alive, which yeah, wasn't cool really. If it kept up for too long, Stiles would likely explode. Case in point, Derek driving up to Washington to see him, to find…out…wait…

"Wait, hang on…rewinding the conversation here. Derek left last Friday?" Stiles asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"Because except for a glance on Monday, I didn't see him until _this_ Friday. Jesus, he was up there for a week!"

Scott shook his head, "Well, he's always been kind of stalker-ish."

Stiles nodded in agreement, but his mind was already drifting. A week. The alpha had been up there since last Friday. It made him wonder how Derek had found him, but going by the time frame, the most reasonable idea was that he had followed his father. Or, given that his dad was, you know, the sheriff, he had followed on his dad's permission. Which would so be likely because his father was a sneaking sneaker when he wanted to be - Stiles had to have gotten it from somewhere, after all. But there was something nagging him about all of this, something he quite couldn't put his finger on.

He shrugged it off. He'd worry about it later, when he wasn't about to face plant into his mug of cocoa, "Are you staying the night? Because I am wiped man."

Scott's eyes lit up, "You kidding me? It's waffles tomorrow."

Stiles groaned. Right, waffles.

TBC…


	9. Chapter 9

See chapter one for disclaimer and summary.

A/N: Well, this hasn't been beta'd, but it's past my posting day by a few so I figured I'd throw it up anyway. It's been done for about a month now. I'm not _entirely_ happy with this chapter…kinda feels like it is missing something. And please remember, haven't seen past the pool episode, so my apologies for the ooc-ness for some (Deaton, mainly….Derek as well to an extent, but it's a pack!fic, so, really….what are you expecting? I tried with Derek, though, I really did).

**SEE CHAPTER END NOTE!**

Onwards and enjoy!

* * *

When John came down the stairs Sunday morning, looking ready for a hearty breakfast of waffles before a long grueling shift at work, what he saw had him stopping at the bottom and blinking. Stiles laughed at him silently before shifting, because despite that he was comfortable, he had to pee and was getting pretty hungry himself. He started extracting himself from the puppy pile that consisted of him, Scott, Quinton, and Derek –who had shown up a few hours prior, intent on making Stiles go to Deaton, even if it meant showing up at the ass crack of dawn.

Since Derek had still looked half asleep when he crawled in the window and his bed would certainly not hold another person, let alone one of Derek's size, Stiles had grabbed up all the blankets and pillows he could find before he relocated them to the living room floor. He had been awake for the last half hour, had heard his dad moving around getting ready, just enjoying the warmth that was emanating from the three bodies completely surrounding him. It had been doing wonderful things for his nerves and had kept the nightmares at bay, like it had the night before when Derek had invaded his and Quinton's bed after the first one (and only one) he had had, because nothing said nightmare more than holding a loved one's insides in your hands and Stiles was kind of prone to them.

He slid Quinton off of his stomach and on to Derek's side, watching in amusement as Quinton grabbed hold of Derek's arm like it was a favorite bear. He huffed a laugh before he finished extracting himself. When he finally stumbled to his feet and realized he hadn't woken the other three, he raised his arms up in a V for victory, turning to face his dad in the process. John just shook his head and grabbed the back of Stiles neck, pushing him towards the downstairs bathroom.

When he walked into the kitchen few minutes later, bladder gloriously empty, his face fell when he saw Derek manhandling his waffle iron. His victory had been so short lived. Derek took a look at his face and started chuckling, causing John to look up from his paper.

John snorted and looked back down, prompting Stiles to stick his tongue out at his dad. He walked over to the counter and hip checked Derek away from his waffle iron, "Make some coffee or something. This is mine," He cradled the iron lovingly, carrying it further down the counter.

Stiles had always been a decent cook, had gotten far better at it after his mom died, but waffles…now those were something that he and his mom had taken pride in making, that he still took pride in now, long after her death, the process a bittersweet memory that he clung to. It had been a Sunday morning tradition for as long as he could remember and would continue to be so as long as he had a say in it. Most people, even if they voiced objections over how boring it was to have the same thing every weekend (Scott), tended to change their tune after trying his waffles (again, Scott).

When he poured the first of the batter onto the iron, he saw Scott stumble into the kitchen with Quinton clinging to his back. Scott gave him a dreamy look along with a thumbs up, "I love waffle Sunday's," he said, depositing his charge onto one of the chairs.

Derek quickly passed Quinton a cup of milk with a straw and Stiles made a mental note to go shopping as soon as possible for sippy cups and other essentials. They had only had so much room to grab stuff for the five year old –the Camaro wasn't exactly the epitome of space- and kitchen supplies just hadn't been on their minds at the time.

And granted, Quinton was pretty good with a glass, but there was just something about having a portable, spill proof drink that was essential to young children as they ran havoc in a home. Stiles had still used sippy cups until he was seven, when he could finally handle the pop top of a water bottle without getting frustrated.

Derek raised an eyebrow, "What is it with you guys and waffles? I'm pretty sure the Sheriff was stroking the iron when I walked in before."

John laughed, "Oh, just you wait son. Soon, you'll be stroking the waffle iron when you see it sitting out, knowing what's to come."

Stiles flicked his dad on the back of the head and ignored the blush that slid across his cheeks. He soon had three ready to go and passed them out before pouring out enough of the batter for himself. Scott had already laid out the syrup, cut up strawberries, and cool whip along with the forks so the three tucked in while he made his. He had just flipped the iron when an unholy _moan_, for a lack of a better word, rumbled from Derek. Stiles blush from his dad's praise, which had just barely receded, came back full-fledged, "Uhm…"

"This is…" Derek mumbled before shoving another fork full into his mouth.

Stiles saw his dad nod in satisfaction before saying, "Told you," around his own mouthful. Scott and Quinton didn't bother saying anything, both of their mouths stuffed full. At this point, Stiles was just grateful that someone had had the foresight to cut down Quinton's waffle, because at the rate he was stuffing himself, he might have tried to just shove the whole waffle in. He hadn't made these at his aunts; she and his grandfather hadn't had a waffle iron, so this was Quinton's first time having them as well.

"So, Derek, not that I mind," John started some time later, after setting his fork down on his empty plate, "But why are you here so early? Scott I can understand, waffle Sunday," Scott grinned happily around one of the last bites of his second waffle, "But you didn't even know about them."

Stiles rolled his eyes, starting in on his second one as well, "I could have told him, dad."

"But you didn't."

"…But I didn't."

Derek rolled his eyes at the byplay, showing that he had spent enough time in the sheriff's presence lately to be comfortable around him, "I'm taking Stiles to go see Deaton. Deaton's a druid and pretty knowledgeable on all supernatural walks of life and the best one to help Stiles now. We need to work out a schedule out with him so that Stiles fae training doesn't interfere with both school and pack business. We have a pack meeting tonight as well, so I was thinking about tagging along while he went shopping for Quinton. We can just head straight to the house after."

John nodded, "Good, good. On both accounts. Not too much, you understand. I'm sure Stiles grandfather will be back and willing to send down the rest of Quinton's things soon. No need to spend too much money for stuff that we don't need double or triple of."

"Of course sir."

John squinted at Derek, "I'm pretty sure that of course was sarcastic. No wonder Stiles likes you so much. His mom did too, for that matter. You were heavily sarcastic even at fifteen. Dry sarcasm draws him in like flies to manure. He gets that from her."

"I am sitting right here," Stiles said, poking his fork in his dad's direction and wrinkling his nose at the manure comparison, the quip enough to bring him out of the stupor he had fallen into when Derek had just kept on talking about their plans for the day. Stiles was pretty sure that was the most he had ever heard Derek say in one go. It had been kind of unnerving, actually, "And besides, it's not just Derek's sarcasm that I like."

Scott choked on his waffle and pushed himself away from the table slightly. He stood up and rushed towards the bathroom, the shutting of the door barely masked the sudden cackle that came from the young werewolf. Stiles stared after him and thought back over not only just his words but the talk he had with Scott last night and groaned silently. Subtle, Scott, real subtle. He cleared his throat, "Anyone want any more?"

John rolled his eyes, "Not enough batter for any more, son. Just…start cleaning up. I'm heading in. I'll eat lunch at the station and pick something up for dinner on the way home, so don't worry about me," He stood and pressed kiss to the top of Stiles head before doing the same with Quinton, who blew a raspberry at him, "Have fun today. Be good, all of you!" He yelled the last down the hallway, where an affirmative from Scott rumbled back to them. He sighed, "See you later."

"Bye dad," Stiles said, as the door closed behind him. Stiles stood and lifted Quinton to the floor, "Go wash up and brush your teeth. I put your stuff out in the bathroom upstairs. My old stool is in there for you too."

Quinton saluted him before clomping out of the room. Stiles grinned and began to pick up the plates, Derek following suit to help him. Between the two of them, they had the kitchen to rights in no time. Stiles ran upstairs to dress himself and help Quinton, before meeting Derek and Scott in the living room, "Ready?" Stiles asked.

"I should be asking you that question," Derek replied, opening the door for them. The group of four piled into Derek's car, Scott going along not even questioned because of not only his place in the pack as Derek's second, but also his place in Stiles life.

* * *

Deaton was waiting for them at the door when they pulled into the lot and they quickly piled into the vets office. Deaton looked at all of them, his gaze lingering on both Stiles and Quinton before he gave a soft ah, "I understand now."

At Stiles look of confusion, Deaton explained, "Derek was not very forthcoming when he called last night. He said that I would need to see it for myself. Stiles, I will be able to help you, do not doubt that. Derek did mention that you had been receiving some training. He also told me the reason it stopped," He added on, when Stiles felt his face fall at the mention of his aunt. He had been doing so good that morning, too, dammit.

"Hybrid training is always different than full blood training. Powers are often different, because of the mingling blood and every hybrid child is different, regardless if the two children have the same blood. This is often proven with siblings," Deaton went on, "We will probably work with your magic the most. I trust the pack to help with the athletic side of things, as that will probably have been enhanced as well."

"He still can't fly," Quinton chortled from Scott's back, always a source of amusement for the child..

"Well," Deaton said with his usual small smile, aimed at Quinton, "We'll work on that too."

At the mention of athletics, Stiles eyes had strayed to Derek's car – more specifically, the trunk of Derek's car, where the case that held his moon blades rested. He hadn't told Derek what was in the case when he grabbed it, but had asked if he could keep it in the werewolves trunk for safe keeping, knowing that should training or any danger occur, he would likely be with the Alpha or the pack. He jerked back when keys were suddenly dangling an inch from his nose. He blinked at Derek, who jingled the keys, "Go get the box."

Stiles nodded, "Right," He took the keys and stepped outside. He grabbed the case from the trunk and went back in. He tossed the keys back to Derek before holding the case up to Deaton, "I bonded with these, on a shopping trip last week. I don't know much about them, the man who was hanging on to them wasn't really talkative."

Deaton nodded his head to the counter and stiles laid the box down before flipping the lid. He heard Derek and Scott gasp behind him, while Deaton nodded again next to him, "Impressive," Deaton murmured, leaning in, "Very impressive. Moon blades– forged on the night of the full moon and etched on the night of the new and curved to represent the waning moons."

Stiles snorted, "Everything revolves around the moon."

Deaton raised an eyebrow at him, "That is because the moon is a powerful force over the earth. It should not be surprising. The sun as well, but magic tends to produce better results at night and during moon phases."

"So…moon blades. Awesome," Stiles said, looking down at them.

"Yes, but you knew that part already. I'm assuming you're curious about the runes."

Stiles nodded, "Yeah."

Deaton reached under the counter and pulled out a book, "Let's see. These are all elemental runes. You have your basics here; earth, fire, air, and water," Deaton pointed to each as he went, "Then you have your spiritual elementals; holy, dark, and psych. These here," He pointed to one of the blades on the double sided dagger, "These are lesser elementals, more specific in what they represent. Life, wind, lightning, aqua, and ice. Those have less area to play with, but are more powerful for their specificity. This last one here that is on each handle twice is the materia rune. Materia is Latin for materials and in terms of the rune means knowledge. Once you have the knowledge of the runes and know how to handle it, the materia runes activate to allow you that usage.

"As an example, you could not pick up this blade and suddenly infuse it with lightening. Yes, you know that the rune is there, but you do not have the knowledge to perform it," Deaton said.

Stiles nodded, "Yeah, makes sense. I can still make these things bad ass if I had to, even without using the runes."

Deaton smiled, "Yes, you can. You already know how?"

"Well, my control is a little shaky still. I tend to think too big. That's what…well, that's what my aunt was working on me with before she died. But yeah, I think I know how, even if I can't yet. It would be kind of impractical with the scythe dagger, but the dual blade? I can manipulate its size."

Deaton nodded, "Very good," He looked over at Derek, "What days are your meetings?"

"Sundays and Wednesdays for the entire pack. Fridays for just Scott, but I was thinking of including Stiles in that."

Deaton nodded thoughtfully, "That might be a good idea. Stiles, has anyone talked to you about lacrosse?"

"No?"

Deaton grimaced and sent a glare at Derek, who just raised an eyebrow. The vet sighed, "It might be a good idea to think about quitting. Lacrosse is a high contact sport and now you have fragile wings stored into a skin pocket in your back. Imagine how painful it would be if a player rammed into you or knocked you to the ground. And do not mention the padding. In the instance of your wings, it will just make things worse."

Stiles scowled. That wasn't fair to ask him of that, not now. Not with everything still tilting on its axis. It didn't matter that he was a bench warmer or not. That was currently asking a little too much, "I'll think about it."

"That's all I can ask. In any case, we will meet on Monday's, Tuesday's, and Thursday's until you have more control and then we will scale back. I think from seven to ten should suffice," Deaton cocked his head lightly, "Out of curiosity, what _are_ you able to do?"

"Uhm, my aunt had me working on holes for seedlings. She was inclined to plants so she did what she knew. I haven't done much else, potions and poultices for my grandfather."

"Show me. The holes, not the potions."

Stiles gulped when he had three suddenly interested faces peering at him from the other side of the counter, "Oh boy, if that's not enough to give a person performance anxiety. Knock it off."

None of them did and Stiles rolled his eyes. He should have known better. He really should have. He cleared his throat and walked over to the plant Deaton had in the corner, the group following along.

Stiles cupped his hands over the dirt and sent a plea to whoever was listening to let this work. The holes he had left in his aunt's garden had still been far, far larger than she had wanted out of him. Though to be fair, they had been less tree size and more full grown bush size, but still. He closed his eyes and willed his magic to do his bidding. He heard a pop, still louder than it should be, followed by a gasping laugh from Scott and a high pitched giggle from Quinton.

Stiles opened his eyes before groaning. Not only was the hole still far too big, but the dirt spray back had landed on Derek's face, "Sorry," He muttered, clenching his teeth to hold back the laughter that was tickling his throat. Derek was wearing the same look on his face that his aunt had been the first time he had done this.

"Yes," Deaton said, clearing his throat, "I can see the need for control training. Although, we might have to go a slightly less messy route to get that control, maybe something you can do at home as well. I will think about it and let you know tomorrow. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a few dogs that are due their medications."

The group waved to Deaton and made their way outside. Scott looked at them and hoisted Quinton a bit further up his back, "So, where to next?"

"Shopping," Stiles said, "We kind of haphazardly packed for Q. He has a major lack of clothes for one and some other essentials. Not to mention, Aunt Mer hadn't had time to go shopping recently, so his shampoo and stuff is pretty low and ready for replacing too."

They climbed into the car and Derek drove them to the edge of town, where a recently erected Shopko stood. The men had barely been in the store for ten minutes before they broke down, "I can't do this," Stiles said, holding up a shirt to Quinton, who shrugged at him, "He's going to wind up dressed like me. Hell, he's half way there," He all but whined, especially since Quinton was wearing pretty close to the same outfit he had worn when they ran into Allison, just with an Iron Man shirt and a red open button top instead.

Really, the only difference between Stiles and Quinton was the fedora Quinton was attached to and the fact that the five year old preferred khaki cargos and workman boots, whereas Stiles was all about jeans and shoes you could, you know, run for your life in.

"Okay," Scott said, sounding a little panicked, "Lets…let's put the clothes on hold. You know Lydia and Erica will want to dress him anyway."

"Good idea," Stiles said, steering the cart out of the little boys section, "Definitely a good idea. So, he needs some toys and books. That should be easy enough. We can handle that…right?"

Well, they could have if they weren't teenage boys – and one twenty three year old man who still felt like he was a teenager at times. They hit the toy aisle and essentially had more fun than was strictly necessary, all in the name of trying out whether the toys were "safe" for a five year old. That explanation had come about after Stiles had hit a nerf ball into the back of an associates head. They ended up purchasing the nerf baseball set out of guilt, along with a few lego sets that Quinton had whined for. As they made their way back to the main aisle, Stiles couldn't help but sigh like the teeny bopper girl he really was as Derek sneakily placed some puzzles and a few other child friendly games into the cart when he thought no one was looking. Derek could be such a softie sometimes.

They then made their way back to the front, all of them detouring off to the candy aisle like it was calling to them, because they all had sweet tooths that they were not at all shy about. They found the books near the electronics section in the front corner and Stiles allowed Quinton to pick his own out. The five year old surprised them all when he grabbed a few of the coloring and activity books instead of reading books, which meant a detour back to stationary to get crayons.

A few aisles closer to the registers they found the body care section of the store and since Stiles was just replacing already owned things, he ducked in and grabbed what was needed, "Oh," Stiles said, stopping when they got to one of the registers, "We forgot kitchen stuff. Also, maybe some kids movies? All of ours are on VHS and the VCR doesn't work anymore. Although, give the cost of movies, it might be cheaper to just buy a new VCR."

Derek shook his head, "We have an hour until the meeting, so let's split up. Stiles, you and Scott go pick out some movies. I'll go find the kids supplies for the kitchen. Grab a VCR as well. I'll buy that. Call it a gift."

Stiles stared at Derek for a moment before he impulsively hugged the Alpha, "Thanks," he whispered as he pulled back. He grabbed the cart handle and looked at Scott, "Race ya," he said, before running down to the electronics section, laughing along with Quinton. He didn't care if it was childish. It was needed to cover his stupidly racing heart. Because damned if that short, one-sided hug had felt just as good as cuddling Derek while sleeping did.

TBC…

So….yeah….next up? Pack meeting…fun yes? Just giving a little hint of what's to come.

**Also…yay or nay, a pov interlude from Derek's perspective? Vote on it! **(This has been bugging me for a few weeks now, so, to the readers I go!)


	10. Chapter 10

See chapter one for disclaimer and summary.

A/N: Two things. One, hasn't been beta'd. Sorry about that and the wait. It got a little crazy in RL. Two, thank you all for the wonderful comments and for voting! I will be doing a Derek POV, but probably not like you're thinking. (some were hoping this chapter would be the one, but no) His chapters…and yes, that is plural….are more like intermissions. You'll see Derek's first of two POV chapters coming up soon, two more chapters between this one and that.

Onward and enjoy!

* * *

They reached the newly restored Hale house with fifteen minutes to spare before the meeting, but even then it looked like they were the last ones there. Derek climbed out of the car, but not before giving Stiles a friendly, if not affectionate, cuff upside the head. Scott leaned forward and pressed his lips to Stiles ears, "You sure you want to do this?" he asked, voice more breath than whisper.

Stiles let out a gust of air before giving Scott a thumb's up. He meant what he said, about being there for his best friend and Derek, no matter what. And in order to do that? Stiles and the rest of the pack had to get over whatever it was that was going on, because the way they were now was not the most conducive to proper teamwork. Not to mention he needed the power of the pack to protect Quinton. He couldn't _not_ do this, Quinton had to come first.

"Okay then," Scott said, still keeping his voice low, "Get out of the car and go in. I'll bring Quin."

"Right," Stiles said, giving his friend a pained smile before slipping from the car, leaving the door open so Scott could climb out.

Stiles gave his body a shake, mentally prepping himself for what was sure to come. He stepped up the stairs and walked through the front door. He stopped in the entryway and listened for Derek, to get some sense of where the pack was. He heard Erica's voice echo through the hall, "…two weeks Derek! Did you get sick of tailing him? I can't see it being much fun."

Stiles rolled his eyes. Really? They were going to start before he even got in there? He walked down the hallway, following where her voice had echoed from. He stood in the doorway to the living room, taking in that everyone was indeed there. Erica and Boyd were cuddled together on the couch with Isaac's legs thrown over theirs. Jackson was sprawled in the loveseat with Lydia next to him, seemingly putting up with her filing down his nails, but Stiles could tell by the half-mast eyes that he was totally enjoying it.

His eyes flickered back to Derek, just in time to see the alpha flick his fingers at Stiles behind his back. It wasn't a go away motion, more of an acknowledgement to tell Stiles that Derek knew he was there…and wow, when did he pick up the ability to read Derek? He cleared his throat, more to distract himself, but managed to draw the eye of everyone in the room.

Erica's eyes narrowed, "I see you're back. What are you doing here?"

Derek flashed her a red-eyed glare, "I invited him."

Isaac ignored Erica and their alpha, instead flashing Stiles a grin as he stood up, "It's good to see you," he said, stepping in to pull Stiles into a hug.

Stiles clenched and released his hands a few times, not sure what to do. Isaac had never hugged him before. He lightly patted the werewolf on the arm and nodded at him when he pulled back.

"We were worried," Isaac continued, "What happened?"

"That's why he's here. Sit down Isaac," Derek said. He waited until Isaac retook his seat and then spanned a glance over the assembled group, "There are numerous topics that need to be covered tonight…"

Jackson groaned, interrupting Derek, "Numerous? We're going to be here all night if Stilinski stays."

Derek growled and Jackson slumped back with a huff and crossed arms, "And that is one of the things we're going to talk about- your treatment of Stiles," Derek paused, waiting until all eyes were back on him, "It has become apparent that some of you, if not all, were under the wrong assumption about Stiles and his place in this pack."

Erica raised an eyebrow, "Wrong? Derek, he's a human – a cling on that we got stuck with because Scott finally got his head out of his ass. What," Erica leaned over and looked past Derek to Stiles, "Did you get upset over how we were treating you and run away?"

Stiles didn't know what was showing on his face, but whatever it was, Stiles knew Erica had read it pretty accurately when her eyes widened and she said, "Oh my God, you did. You totally ran away for two weeks because of your hurt feelings. Wow, that's…that's pretty sad, Stilinski."

Jackson snorted at that and Stiles looked heavenward for help. This is exactly what he was expecting. He didn't know why he had been _hoping_ for better, really, because no one in the pack was stupid. It just sucked that some of them enjoyed feeling superior over weaklings, and to them right now, Stiles was that weakling.

"Enough!" Derek yelled, his eyes glowing to the point that Stiles could see the reflection of them in the glass of a painting on the opposite wall, "This is exactly what I was talking about. Erica, Jackson, did it ever occur to either of you that if Stiles wasn't pack, I wouldn't have him here? Not only is Stiles good at what he does, but the bond I had with him transferred from Scott when he submitted to me. He's been pack for months. If he hadn't been, he would have been doing research…from a distance."

Both teens clamped their mouths shut at that, eyeing Stiles warily. Stiles didn't look at either of them, keeping his gaze on Derek, because one of them was going to make the connection. And he was right when Erica straightened slightly, "Wait, what do you mean had?" She asked, "You can _break_ the bond?"

Boyd reached over and gently tugged one of her curls, "That's how Omega's happen," He rumbled, before turning to look at Stiles, who met his eyes, "What happened?"

Derek turned and looked at Stiles, who caught the movement and looked back. This was it. He was not happy at all about the pack knowing about this, not at all, because it was obvious that at _least_ two of them still didn't like him, three if Lydia followed Jackson, but she was too busy observing to add in her two cents. Those were the times that she scared the crap out of him, because she could pick up on things that no one else could and her face was perfectly blank, so Stiles had no idea what she was thinking.

Stiles nodded shortly and slid his flannel off. Jackson was so going to make fun of his wings, he knew it, though if he got called Tinkerbell he wasn't going to be responsible for his actions. That puff of air that he still couldn't control would make a pretty good, if essentially harmless, weapon. More of a prank that could possibly scare the crap out of someone. Now there was an idea. He'd have to test that on Jackson.

"Two weeks ago, the bond I had with Stiles snapped. There are three ways that can happen…"

"And one of them requires stripping?" Erica muttered under her breath to Boyd.

Derek threw her a glare before continuing, "One way is death, but Scott had talked to him after it happened so that wasn't it. Another is if he willingly breaks it. But he wasn't aware of the bond beyond the cursory and thought that it only existed between the wolves. The third…is if another force breaks it."

And here was Lydia perking up, "Another force? A supernatural one, obviously, since the bond is supernatural in nature," She looked Stiles up and down, "You're no longer human."

All the wolves jumped to their feet and Stiles took a step back. Okay, this was…unexpected. He didn't think they'd try to attack him, which is what it looked like Erica and Jackson were trying to do. Which, wow, hypocritical of Jackson, totally, "Hey, now, no reason for that," He said with another step back, "I come in peace."

"Just show them!" Derek growled, shoving Erica backwards when she surged out of Boyd's arms with a snarl, halfway morphed into her beta form.

"Gah!"Stiles whipped off his shirt, popped his wings out, and let his hair bleed blue with the tints of the healing part of his magic. As if they had been doused with calming potions, all the wolves just stopped and stared at him with wide eyes. It was kind of comical for Erica, her eyes being so wide and slack even though she was still wolfed out.

"You…have wings," Jackson said, the sardonic amusement so very apparent, "Did they come with magic fairy dust? Do you have to think happy thoughts to use them?"

Lydia slapped Jackson's shoulder before stepping forward, her eyes trained on the wings that were fluttering madly behind him, "He is partially on to something. Fairy?"

Stiles nodded hesitantly and shifted away from her curious fingers, a move that had her eyes narrowing, "Yeah. My ah," He cleared his throat, "My dad is human but my mom…I'm a half-breed. That's where I was for the last two weeks," His eyes cut to Erica before he looked back at Lydia, "With my aunt and grandfather, learning about it."

"Hmm," Lydia cocked her head, "There are different breeds of fairy. You're still normal sized, so none of the smaller ones…Sidhe? Well, a descendent of some kind as Sidhe left this realm several centuries ago."

"I don't know," Stiles said, pulling his wings back into their pockets and throwing his shirt on, "My aunt didn't really get into that before…" Stiles took a deep breath, "Look, the reason I'm here is because I need the pack's help and Derek agreed."

"With what? Flying lessons?" Jackson laughed.

"No, you…you _asshole_. My aunt was murdered on Friday and I need the packs help to protect my cousin," he looked at the group, eyes scanning each face, "I wouldn't be here otherwise. Because as Jackson was so thoughtful to point out two weeks ago, I'm not pack. Even if Derek wants me in now, becoming pack is on me because Fairies can only bond with other species through their own magic. So if it wasn't for Quinton, I would quite happily tell you all to shove it up your asses. I am not a goddamn verbal and emotional punching bag!"

He took a deep breath and locked eyes with Derek, who nodded at him before speaking, "We will help Stiles and all of you will get over yourselves. Our priority is keeping Quin alive, do you understand me? Even if this is just precautionary and the threat is imagined, not real, you will treat it like Quinton could be attacked tomorrow."

Five heads nodded in perfect synchrony. Isaac gave Stiles a wobbly smile, "I knew you were pack and I hope you decide to be again. Derek was less of a grouch for those few months. It was nice. I, uh, I felt the bond break too, you know. It's kinda obvious that it's still missing…feels like something went wrong with the break."

Derek shot Isaac a proud look, knowing that that meant that Isaac fully trusted his alpha before narrowing his eyes at him in concern. It had been an odd statement on Isaacs's part. Still, Stiles smiled, "Thank you, Isaac."

"Scott, bring in Quinton," Derek said, before looking the group over, apparently deciding to wait on what Isaac said for now, "We need to scent him as much as possible. Not only that but learn _his_ smell. I want you to know it so well you could find him in a landfill."

Scott walked in the door then, with Quinton on his back in what seemed to be becoming a favorite spot. The five year old spotted Stiles and started squirming, "Stiles!"

Stiles reached out and pulled Quinton into his arms, nuzzling the boy's temple when Quinton burrowed into his neck with a sigh. Stiles looked at Quinton for a moment, noticing his brown spiky hair was visible, before glancing at Scott with a raised eyebrow, "Where's his…"

As if he knew what Stiles was talking about, Quinton sat up and turned his upper body to Scott, arms outstretched and fingers opening and closing, "'dora!"

Scott handed the hat over, watching in amusement as Quinton popped it on his head before curling back into Stiles, "He was running around the yard, chasing some birds. He wanted me to hold it so it wouldn't fly away."

"Holy crap, it's a miniature Stilinski," Jackson muttered, "What, you suddenly have a baby to dress and decided the world needed another you?"

"Ah, well, _there _is one person Quinton will never like because Jackson will never apologize to him," Stiles muttered to Scott out of the side of his mouth just as Quinton gave a miniature growl quite reminiscent of Derek.

"Not a baby!" he lisped, before crossing his arms.

Hopefully Jackson was never alone with Quinton, because that would be a shit storm. A pouty Jackson was horrible to deal with and God would he pout at being outsmarted by a little boy just out of toddlerhood.

"He's five and dresses himself for the most part, thank you very much," Stiles added, "I have very little say in his choice of attire."

"What's with the fedora?" Isaac asked, sounding as if he had been inspired. A terrifying thought, given his love affair with scarves.

"Ah, that was my first gift to him. It was intended as a joke, to make my aunt laugh the night he was born, because her husband had had a collection of them that he never wore but claimed sentimental attachment to so she wouldn't throw them away. Q just took a strong liking to it a few years ago and formed something of a connection to it," Stiles said with a smile.

"So, what's going on then?" Erica asked, her hip cocked backwards and her fingers clenched like she was forcing herself not to grab Quinton out of Stiles arms and run. Her posture, to anyone outside the pack, could be portrayed as hostility, but Stiles could easily read the soft look on her face.

Stiles shook his head minutely, "First off, introductions. Q, know how Derek is a werewolf?"

Quinton nodded with a laugh, "He's the cuddly wolf, yes."

Derek's face flushed slightly as the rest of the pack snickered. Stiles chuckled himself before continuing, "Right. Well, the rest of the people in this room are his pack. A pack is a…a family, basically," He added when Quinton made a questioning noise at the unfamiliar term, "That's Erica, Boyd, Isaac," He turned slightly so Quinton could see everyone, "Jackson, and Lydia."

Quinton gave them all a small wave, "Hi," He said, eyeing the group. His eyes landed on Lydia and he grinned, "You have pretty hair."

"Jesus Christ, he _is_ a miniature Stilinski," Jackson grumbled, dropping back onto the couch.

Lydia smiled and gave her hair a small flip, "Thank you Quinton," She cocked her head, "So do we get an explanation?" She asked, her eyes flicking to Derek.

Derek nodded, "Scott, you are already aware of what's going on. Will you take Quinton to the family room out back so we can talk?"

"Sure," Scott said, plucking Quinton out of Stiles arms and tucking him under his own like Quinton was a football, "Come on short stuff. Let's go find a movie to watch."

They watched Quinton squirm around in glee, "Nemo!"

"Err, maybe," Scott said, his voice showing his skepticism as he left the room. It was quite unlikely that Derek owned _Finding Nemo_.

Stiles just shook his head and dropped down onto the recliner he had claimed after the house was finished, everyone else following suit back into their previous spots.

"Okay, can you start from the beginning?" Derek asked.

Stiles rolled his eyes, for what had to have been the twentieth time in the last twenty minutes. This group, honestly, "Okay, about six years ago, my two uncles were killed in Afghanistan. One of them was my aunt's husband, the other was her brother. When word came back she…well, she kind of went off the deep end. Not only was her husband killed but she had always been pretty close to her brother as well, so she felt the loss pretty heavy, especially so soon after my mom's and the Hales deaths. She started going out, drinking heavy, that sort of thing. One thing led to another and she met Quinton's sperm donor at some bar in San Francisco. They had a hot and heavy affair, but he was controlling and abusive. The last straw was when she saw him change forms, from man into a horse.

"When she figured out that he was a kelpie, and a dangerous one at that, she ran. Went up to Washington to live with my grandfather. A few weeks later she found out she was pregnant with Q," Stiles paused and took a shuddering breath, "Friday, Quinton's donor managed to find my aunt and he…well….he killed her. Quinton is a half-breed like me, except half fairy-half kelpie. Just thinking about it, it's kind of a dangerous combination. Half breeds are very different than full breeds and Quinton is a mix of two powerful species. If his Donor found out about him and got to him…" He trailed off, worrying his lip.

"He's still young enough to be brainwashed and children are very easily broken," Lydia said, eyes glancing towards the hall, "I'll do some research in the bestiary, see what I can find on Kelpies. Oh," Lydia turned to Stiles, "Do you have a name? What he looks like? Because he might have a record if he was abusive."

"Uhm, his name is Alex. I don't know anything more than that. I can do you one better than a description though, hang on," Stiles stood and ran out to the car, digging his backpack out of the trunk.

He fished out his sketchbook and tossed his bag back in the trunk. He turned on his heal but paused, looking down at the book. Okay, no, he wasn't going to do this. Not the whole book. He wasn't quite ready for that and the group in there had an insatiable curiosity. They would probably wreck the drawings, trying to get a look at them. Not to mention, well…drawings were a personal thing for him and he wasn't quite ready to let them out there. Not yet. The one of Alex was bad enough.

He opened the book to the last page, where Alex's twisted mug was staring back up at him. It was an amazing likeness, given that Stiles had only gotten a ten second view of him before he changed into his horse form. Stiles sighed and ripped the page out before dropping the book onto the front seat through the open window before jogging back into the house.

"Here, this is Alex," Stiles handed the drawing to Lydia, "I, um, drew it up last night. Figured it would be a good idea for the pack to know what he looked like."

Lydia hummed as she looked at the drawing, not an ounce of shock on her face at the idea that Stiles drew the picture, "Well, he's certainly a good looking man on the surface…but there is something so very ugly about his eyes."

Jackson leaned over Lydia's shoulder, snorting when he took in the drawing, "Yeah, right, you drew this," He said, the sarcasm practically dripping.

Stiles wrapped his arms around his chest, but straightened his back, "What, you think I just grabbed a picture off the internet?"

Jackson laughed, "I wouldn't put it past you."

"You kidding me? Show Derek. He'll confirm that that is Alex. Besides, why the hell would I put my cousin at jeopardy like that?"

Derek stood and slipped the paper from Lydia's fingers, "This is him," He glanced at Stiles as he passed the paper off, "That is impressive."

Stiles nodded his thanks before looking back at Jackson, "You make a shit werewolf."

Jackson growled and stood up, "What did you just say to me?"

Stiles uncrossed his arms and clenched his fists, "You heard me. You're shit at observation. If you had looked closer at the drawing, you would have noticed not only the perforated edges, but the texture of the paper, which is coarse and not smooth like printer paper. Also, that it was drawn in charcoal and was smeared around the edges. You can't do any of that with a picture printed off a computer."

"Well, you can, it's called Photoshop, but in this case Stiles is right," Lydia held up her fingers, which had a tint of black on them, "Dust rub off. That's a fresh drawing. Not to mention, the perforated edges would jam a printer."

"Can we get back on track, please?" Erica asked, handing the drawing back to Lydia.

"I'll give this to Danny, have him see if he can find anything on the guy. Known whereabouts, newspaper mentions, that sort of thing," Lydia said, carefully laying the paper down on the side table, "If we get enough information, we might be able to track him."

"Good idea," Derek said with a nod, "Let's go join Scott and Quinton. You can start getting to know his scent. Stiles, help me in the kitchen first."

Stiles held back a groan. He wasn't entirely sure he was ready to be alone with Derek right now, never mind that the wolves would be a few rooms away, "Sure."

TBC….


	11. Chapter 11

See chapter one for disclaimer and summary.

A/N: Sorry for the wait folks. This thing has been done for over a month but between one thing and another…well…

Hasn't been beta'd...and I am vaguely scared of the reaction I am going to get from this one, so all I ask is should you comment, please be gentle with me. Thanks!

* * *

Stiles followed Derek into the kitchen, going straight for the fridge to figure out what they could have for dinner. Because it was nearing six and Stiles was _starving_. A quick look inside showed absolutely nothing except eggs, butter, and a few odds and ends. Nothing really inspiring unless he wanted to make scrambled eggs for all nine of them which….not enough eggs. At all. He opened the freezer door next.

Derek leaned back against the counter with his arms crossed, "Who would you trust to watch Quinton other than Scott?"

Stiles peered around the door, "Eh? Why?"

"Because you are going to practicing with those blades against the wolves and I would rather that Quinton didn't witness that."

Stiles nodded. It was a good point. Never mind that werewolves healed rapidly, it would still be traumatizing to watch for a five year old, "Well, he likes Lydia."

"Yeah, that was obvious. Would you trust _her_ with him?"

"I…" Stiles bit back the 'I do' that was crowding up his throat and actually thought about it without the nine years of infatuation clouding his thoughts. Did he trust Lydia? Sure, with _his_ life. She could be vicious and ruthless when she put her mind to it but…did he trust her with Quinton? The boy was five. Lydia would likely seem overwhelming and scary in large doses and he certainly couldn't trust Lydia to not get overwhelmed by Quinton, not when the boy got curious and kept asking questions, "No."

Derek gave a knowing nod, "Danny?" He suggested.

Danny _could_ work…he was a great guy, nice to everyone, but…and this was a rather large but, Danny wasn't all that good with children. Stiles thought back to January, when their English class had done a field trip to the elementary school for National Reading Day. Danny had held himself tight through most of the hour they were there, reading stiltedly to his small group of charges. He had been nice to them, but he hadn't known how to react to them. He thought of who else was in their English class and blinked at Derek, "Isaac."

Derek straightened up and let his arms drop, "Isaac?"

Stiles gave an excited nod, "Think about it! Your trust in him is iron clad, I trust him with my life, and he's great with kids. Not to mention, I would feel horrible fighting against him," Derek smirked here and it made Stiles wonder if Derek was cultivating an innocent look in Isaac and Scott. It would explain a lot. Underestimation could be a powerful tool, "And if, God forbid, anything were to happen, he could protect Q far better than Lydia or Danny. He's a werewolf for crying out loud."

Derek nodded, "All right, Isaac it is," He walked over to the door and stuck his head into the hall, "Isaac, get in here!" he called.

Isaac joined them in seconds, a confused frown on his face, "What's up?"

"You are going to be Quinton's secondary caretaker during meetings when I need Scott. Stiles trusts you and it would be a large benefit to have a wolf do it. Just in case. There are going to be times when we will need you to keep Quinton inside and occupied. Some of Stiles training is going to get bloody."

Isaac nodded, "Sure. He's a sweet kid," He smiled at Stiles, "He's also pretty precocious. He managed to stump Lydia with one of his questions. Not that she didn't know the answer, but that he asked it in the first place."

Stiles laughed, "Yeah, he's something else. Thanks Isaac, this means a lot."

Isaac's look turned sly, "Enough for cookies?"

"Ah, what the hell. Sure, enough for cookies. I'll drag Derek to the store and you guys can get to know Q some," He took a breath, "Let him get used to you."

Derek frowned and looked at Stiles, "Are you sure?"

And damned if Stiles heard the underlying 'are you ready?' under that. Talk about a loaded question. No, he wasn't ready. But he also knew it wasn't a good idea to wrap Quinton up in bubble wrap and hide him away from the world. Not to mention, when he went back to school next week, he was going to have to leave his cousin anyway. Better to start now, rather than make the suffering worse in a week.

He took a deep breath before nodding, "Yeah," He turned back to Isaac, "Anything in particular you want for dinner?"

Isaac's eyes widened, like he wasn't expecting to be asked that question. Which, fair, generally if Stiles was cooking for the pack, he made whatever was on hand and Derek generally did the shopping, so it was whatever Derek wanted for the most part. The Alpha was considerate enough to take in the packs likes and dislikes when choosing foods, but that was about it.

"Oh…Uh….Taco bake?" He asked, his tone hopeful.

"Sure," Stiles said, "Might as well get going then. Faster we go, faster we get back. I'm going to go let Q know where we're going."

Stiles walked down the hall, noting Derek heading past him and outside, before peeking into the family room. Scott leaned his head back over the couch and smiled at him before turning forward again. Quinton was down on the floor with one of the games they had picked up for him, this one a version of memory mixed with go fish. It was made for older kids, having nearly fifty matches, rather than ten or twenty like other versions, but it looked like Quinton was dominating against Lydia and, surprisingly, Boyd.

Isaac brushed passed Stiles and crawled over the back of the couch, leaning against Scott when he finally settled in. He leaned his head in and started murmuring to the other beta. Stiles raised an eyebrow at them before looking back at his cousin, "Hey Q? Can you come here for a sec?"

Quinton glared at him for a moment before heaving a sigh far too big for his body before pointing at Lydia, "No cheating. Scott's watching you," He grinned broadly when the group of teens laughed at Lydia's affronted look before climbing to his feet and clomping over to Stiles, "We leavin'?"

Stiles shook his head and crouched down, "No, we're going to have dinner here. But Derek and I have to run to the store. You gunna be okay here or do you want to go with?"

He knew that before his mom died, Quinton would jump all over the chance of staying behind with his new friends. Now though, Stiles just wasn't sure and decided it was better to ask than assume.

Sure enough, Quinton looked indecisive for a moment, before he looked over his shoulder, "I'll stay. I'm kickin' butt."

"Awesome! That's my man!" Stiles held his hand up which Quinton quickly smacked with his own, "Okay. We won't be gone long. Have fun," he said, adding the _be safe _in his own mind when he looked back up at Scott. His friend nodded at him in understanding.

Quinton turned and dove back at the game, causing Stiles to chuckle. That kid was definitely something else. He stepped back into the hallway, before making his way outside. He made his way to the car, only to stop a few feet away. Derek was already inside with the motor running, but that's not what had caught Stiles attention. What had was that Derek had his sketchbook….which, shit, because the other reason for not bringing the whole book inside was currently in possession of said book. And most of the drawings in said book were of the man holding it.

Derek looked up at him, must have heard the panicked stuttering of his heart, and met his eyes. Stiles was slightly dismayed to find that he couldn't read the look on Derek's face at all. Derek jerked his head at the passenger side of the car and Stiles took the hint.

He willed his feet to move and he crossed the distance in a few steps. He climbed into the car and took a deep breath before turning to Derek, ready to say something – anything. He promptly lost the air he had just taken in when he found warm lips sliding in and slotting with his.

Stiles heart pounded. Oh…my…Derek was…Derek was kissing him! Stiles eyes fluttered and he moved into the kiss, reveling in the moment, the sweet taste of Derek's lips, the rasp of Derek's stubble across his cheek and chin. He reached up and clenched his fingers into Derek's t-shirt, just as Derek's fingers wrapped around his neck, the palm warm and his thumb caressing at Stiles pulse point.

Another brush of Derek's thumb had Stiles gasping, like the skin under his ear was suddenly electrified. Derek took advantage of the gasp and deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding out to lick at Stiles mouth. Stiles opened his mouth a bit wider, giving the alpha an unspoken permission to invade. Instead, Derek gave Stiles tongue a quick caress as if saying hello before he slowed the kiss and then pulled away.

Stiles opened his eyes and tried to calm his breathing. He was panting like he had run a mile at full tilt. He stared at Derek, who was staring back with a soft smile on his face, "Uhm…"

Derek chuckled and ducked in to press another chaste kiss to Stiles mouth before pulling away completely, "That's twice in three days I've managed to make you speechless. I'm kind of enjoying it."

Stiles ignored him, savoring the warmth he could still feel on his neck as if Derek had branded him. He licked his lips and saw Derek's eyes narrow in on his mouth. Which…wow…that was interesting. He licked his lips again, watching Derek's fingers tighten on the steering wheel he was now gripping. He grinned. This kind of made up for the invasion of privacy. Okay, no, who the hell was he kidding. There was no kind of about it. It totally made up for it.

"So this was sudden," Stiles said, as Derek put the car into gear and pulled out of the drive.

"Not really," Derek replied, casting Stiles a glance.

"I'm sorry, not really? Derek, up until the moment you ninja kissed me, I had no idea that you liked me…like that," Stiles turned in his seat, facing the other man.

Derek snorted, "You're kind of dense then. Stiles, I chased you to Washington. I came over this morning and all but wrapped myself around you in the living room. Hell, your father has caught onto it."

Stiles all but felt the blood rush from his face, "My dad knows?"

Derek nodded, "So does Scott, for that matter. I wasn't subtle. Which…in retrospect might have been the cause of a lot of Erica's aggression recently," He said, his voice thoughtful, "I also had an idea how you felt but…" Derek shrugged.

"What, it took looking through my sketchbook to hammer it all home?" Stiles asked in disbelief, "Because I am recalling a pretty prominent smirk yesterday in the car."

"If that's how you want to look at it. Just…I wasn't going to do anything about it, because I didn't know if it was lust, a crush, or whatever for you. Stiles, I'm not only a werewolf but I'm twenty three. I wasn't going to start dating a _teenager_ over a crush. Crushes fade and lust will generally dissipate when it's been satisfied. Your sketchbook…some of those drawings, proved that neither of those were the case."

"Oh," Well, Stiles was well aware that art in any form tended to be an outward showing of what was on the inside, it was one of his mom's favorite things to say, but he hadn't thought about that in a literal sense, "Well…"

"Three times," Derek said, smirking as he turned into the grocery stores parking lot, "I'm getting good at this."

Stiles punched him on the arm.

* * *

When Derek drove them back to Stiles house that night, he parked the car and shut off the engine, "I'll help you bring the stuff in," He said, when Stiles shot him a confused look.

"Oh, right. Forgot about all of that," Stiles said, heat infusing his face. He cleared his throat and climbed out of the car, flipping the seat forward so Scott could get out. His friend followed with Quinton tucked into his arms. The sight made Stiles smile. Scott was gunna make a great dad someday.

"I'll go help the runt into his PJ's and get him tucked into bed," Scott said, bumping shoulders gently with Stiles.

"Nuh uh," Quinton said around a rather large yawn, "'m not tired yet!"

"Sure you're not," Stiles said, tweaking the boys nose, "Why don't you let Scott help you get changed and when I'm done out here, I'll read you a story, okay?"

"Yes!" Quinton cheered, arms flying up – high enough that a small fist almost took out one of Scott's eyes.

Stiles couldn't help but grin. Quinton would be out like a light before he even got a foot on the porch stairs, "Say goodnight to Derek."

Quinton turned his head, a bit sluggish in his exhaustion, "Night sourwolf!"

Scott snorted and bit his lip hard at the expression on Derek's face. Stiles, on the other hand, was mortified because when the hell had Quinton heard that particular nickname?! Stiles was the only one who used it and he couldn't recall a time in the boy's presence that it had come out, "Uhm…"

"Bye Derek!" Scott said with another snort, turning on his heal and making his way up to the house.

Stiles looked at Derek, who raised an eyebrow at him, "I don't even know. It must have slipped out at some point in the last few weeks. Sorry."

"If the whole pack starts calling me that, I'm taking it out on you," Derek said, popping the trunk. He pulled out a large portion of the bags and started up to the house, smirking over his shoulder, "Through servitude."

Stiles blinked and weaved on his feet as all of his blood rushed south, because holy crap that was…that was full on innuendo that Derek had just done there. And hot innuendo because all that Stiles could think about now was pretty obvious, if the tenting going on south of the belt was any indication. Servitude…shit.

"Move it, Stiles. Also, mind out of the gutter," Derek called back, "I meant that I have a yard that needs to be landscaped and you have some handy dandy new powers that would work well for that."

And there goes the boner, because nothing killed arousal quite like the thought of magical gardening. Stiles sighed. Throw it out there, take it back. Just the kind of teasing Derek enjoyed. Shame, really. Although…if it came down to it, he supposed he could make that entertaining. For him that is…and quite probably frustrating for Derek. He grinned and grabbed the last few bags out of the trunk before slamming it shut, happily thinking about sweat and no shirts and a grumpy wolf watching it all.

He dropped the bags in the living room, his dad already going through the ones Derek had brought in, throwing scowls every now and again between the new VCR and Derek. Stiles shook his head, "We needed one dad. It would have been pointless to buy all those movies again when the tapes work perfectly well."

"Not the point, Stiles," John said, toeing the box, "And he had to call it a gift, so it's not like I can give it back."

Derek shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets. He looked at Stiles, "I should get going. Isaac wants some help with his Algebra tonight."

Stiles nodded, "Sure, I'll walk you out. Gotta lock up anyway."

He followed the alpha out the door, before giving an oomph of surprise as Derek shut the door and pressed him up against it, "My dad's like, right there." Stiles hissed, as hands clasped his hips tight and a nose dug into his neck.

"I know. Keep it down," Derek said, before taking a breath, "You smell…" He lifted his head and Stiles was surprised to see Derek's normally sea green eyes tinged with red. Not glowing, like they did when he wolfed out, but like his iris were bleeding red.

Stiles whined when the hands on his hips clenched. It was then that he made an executive decision on how the next few minutes would go and deliberately licked his lips. Derek eyed the move and a rumble came from his chest before he all but slammed his mouth to Stiles. Stiles scrambled at Derek's shoulders, fingers gripping into the t-shirt because all he could do was hold on and enjoy the ride.

And what a ride it was. This kiss had nothing on the one earlier. It was more forceful, like Derek was no longer worried about holding something back. Stiles whimpered when his mouth as it was all but forced open, Derek just taking the kiss, and Stiles opened wide to just let him because holy shit, this was like, his fall back fantasy kiss…generally the thought of getting one was enough to make him come in about ten seconds flat…which…speaking of…

Stiles wrenched his mouth away from Derek's and took a few gulps of air, "You…you…holy shit…"

Derek eyed him carefully, panting as well, "I…was that too…"

"God no, perfect. It was fucking perfect. Just…I almost just creamed my pants, dude, and there is no way in hell I am walking past my father with a wet spot."

And then, to Stiles amazement because that kiss had been something but he had been kind of expecting (hoping) that Derek kissed that way, Derek's ears and neck turned red. Stiles eyes widened at the sight and he pressed his fingers to the flush, "Oh my god…you're blushing?"

Derek reached up and grabbed his hand, pulling it away, "I am not. Shut up." He leaned in and captured Stiles mouth in another kiss, this one so slow and soothing, that Stiles couldn't help but let out a contented sigh and lean in a little closer.

This time, the kiss died off naturally and Derek gave him that small smile, the one that always sent Stiles heart fluttering and he didn't stop the returning smile from blooming on his face. Derek cleared his throat and stepped back, "I had a thought, earlier, when Deaton was talking about finding you a way to practice control at home."

Stiles tipped his head to the side in curiosity, "Oh?"

"Yeah, use a ball, like the one we got for Quinton earlier. Try controlling it, making it hover, fly around the room, that type of thing."

"That's," Stiles eyes widened, "A really good idea. I wonder if the weight of a ball would have an effect on the control? Like, would a sixteen pound bowling ball be harder to handle than a nerf ball?"

Derek shook his head, "If you're going to be hovering a bowling ball around the house, please do it when I'm not around. That sounds like it could be painful."

"You're a werewolf. I don't think you have anything to worry about."

"I would really rather not find out what it feels like to get clocked in the head by a bowling ball, werewolf or no. Having one dropped on my foot was bad enough and besides, it will _still hurt_."

"…Laura?"

Derek shook his head, a sad but quirky smile on his face, "Mom."

"Ouch," Stiles said, before affecting an air of sympathy, "If it makes you feel better, Scott did the same to me. He thought he could handle a ten pound ball only to realize that it's a little harder to hold ten pounds on three fingers than it is to carry other items of similar weight around. I'm not even sure how many bones the doctor said were broken in my foot. It was quite a few though. But I had a lot of fun smacking Scott with my crutches whenever I got the chance."

"You would," He pressed a quick kiss to Stiles mouth, then his cheek, as he pulled his keys out of his pocket, "I really have to go. Isaac expected me back ten minutes ago. Another five and we'll have a horde of werewolves on the lawn."

Stiles chuckled, "Not the kind of lawn ornamentation we're going for here, true. All right. Night, _sourwolf_." Stiles said with a grin, watching as Derek hoped off the porch with a wave over his shoulder.

He watched the Camaro pull out of sight before opening the front door and stepping into the house, only to collide with Scott, who was staring at him with wide eyes, "Really, dude? I was _right here_ the whole time!"

Stiles peered around Scott's shoulder at his dad, who nodded at him with a look that was…really quite similar to Scott's. John raised an eyebrow slowly, "The curtain was open."

Stiles looked to the right, towards the window, before his eyes widened, "Well, shit."

"I'm gunna…go. Yeah, just go. Find some bleach or something, maybe a few of moms copper pot scrubbers to help get those sounds out of my head. See you later, bro." Scott slipped out the door before Stiles could get a word in edge wise.

He couldn't help the fond chuckle as he locked the door. Scott could be such a little drama queen sometimes; like he hadn't locked lips with Allison while in Stiles presence before.

Stiles turned to face his dad, "Uhm."

John shook his head and held up a hand, "Don't bother. I knew this was coming for a while. I just wish I hadn't witnessed it first-hand…that was quite the…" John shook his head again, more like a wet dog this time, "He's quite the passionate young man."

Stiles smiled, "No need to tell me that."

Stiles sat down on the couch next to his dad with a sigh, staring at the TV which was showing a recap of some of the hockey games from earlier in the day. His dad wasn't a big hockey nut, preferred baseball, but sometimes sports were just the thing when you wanted something to take your mind off of things.

"So are we going to talk about it?"

Stiles craned his head to look at his dad, "Talk about what? Me and Derek?"

John sighed and reached out an arm, snagging Stiles around the shoulders and dragging him into his side, "No," he was silent for a moment, "We should really start planning the funeral."

Stiles stiffened, "Can we not do this right now?"

"Stiles…"

"Dad, I had a pretty good day, all things considered. Things are fairly on square with the pack, everything is awesome with Derek, and…and…"

John turned and threaded his fingers into Stiles hair, gripping gently and tipping Stiles head back so they were looking at each other, "Stiles," He said softly, eyes flickering as they took in Stiles eyes that had to be starting to turn red from the effort he was making at holding back the tears, "I know what your aunt meant to you, especially after…" He cleared his throat, "After your mom. You should talk…_we_ should talk."

Stiles sat there for a moment in silence, trying to gather his thoughts. This was so different to how he and his dad had interacted after his mom died. Part of that was John's own grief, the other part Stiles now understood as John just…not wanting to continue lying to Stiles, as he and his mom had done through most of her sickness. As for his aunt, yeah, she had been a link to his mom and he had loved her, no doubt about it. But as upset as he was, he was angrier at her death than anything. Because it had been so pointless.

"I miss her," Stiles said, softly, "It's only been a few days but I already miss her. Almost as much as mom. She was kind of a…a glue to mom, you know? But, as much as I'm upset and sad and any other word you want to throw in there, I'm also angry and it's kind of overpowering the sadness because her death wasn't necessary. It wasn't because she was sick or because she was trying to protect someone.

"She died because someone was an asshole on a power trip and couldn't handle her leaving him. It makes me sick," Stiles trailed off and blinked slowly, "I also know exactly how Derek felt last fall about Laura and Peter. Holy crap, no wonder he was such an ass."

John shook his head, "That's my son, always so understanding."

Stiles snorted, "I'm all kinds of full up with understanding. But do you get where I'm going with this? I don't need to talk because yeah, I'm grieving, of course I am. But if it comes down to it, I am going to avenge Aunt Mer's death, because this fairy crap has to be good for something."

"No, that's not really where I wanted this conversation to go. Stiles, listen to me. It is not your job to avenge your aunt, even if he does deserve it. If you need to use your magic against that man, do it because you are protecting yourself or Quinton or somebody else from getting killed. If you take his life, make sure it _means_ something because it will stay with you for the rest of your life. And avengement is just not good enough a reason for that kind of burden," John sighed, "I'd tell you I didn't want you anywhere near this, but you never do listen to the voice of reason."

Stiles tugged his arm free before wrapping both of his arms around John, squeezing tight, "I do! I listen, I swear. I just don't always…take the things I hear into advisement." Stiles said, pulling away and looking his dad straight on, "I don't…I don't want to be a killer dad, you know that right? The thought of taking a person's life makes me want to puke. But this guy, he's not…he's not a person. Not really. I promise that I'll only kill to protect, I can make that promise. I won't hunt him down. But I swear to God, if he steps one foot in Beacon Hills, he's done, because that's one foot too close to Quinton."

TBC…

so there you have it. Again, please be kind. Next chapter: a Derek interlude.


	12. Chapter 12

See chapter one for disclaimer and summary.

A/N: So, I totally lied last chapter if you read my author's notes. I mentioned that this was supposed to be Derek's chapter…which it isn't. I guess that's what I get for posting half asleep. I apologize for that.

Once again, not Beta'd. If you find any mistakes, let me know so I can fix them. Thanks! Onwards and Enjoy!

* * *

Stiles first night since his aunt died where he didn't get to curl up to a warm wolf form was not what he was expecting. He had gone to bed with a list made up in his head; nightmares for both him and Quinton, bed wetting for Quinton, and general insomnia had topped it off. Instead, he had fallen asleep halfway through his favorite episode of Stargate SG-1 somewhere around two a.m. - and woke with a start, heart hammering in his chest and his hands clenching at his pillows.

He took a deep breath and pushed himself up onto his elbows before looking around to see what had woken him, cause it wasn't a nightmare that was for sure, he remembered a pleasant dream involving Derek and…well…if it was Scott again, Stiles was going to strangle him, because heart attack inducing wake-ups two nights in a row was just not on and probably violated all sorts of bro-codes that they had in place. Stiles wasn't exactly for sure about that, he'd have to pull out their binder, but there had to be something on it. Instead of Scott sneaking in his window, however, his eyes fell on a small lump under his blankets and he shook his head.

Reaching out, he pulled the blankets back until his eyes met wide green ones that were blinking up at him in drowsiness. Quinton climbing into his bed and shuffling around must have woken him. Stiles yawned and laid back down, wrapping himself around his cousin in the process, "What's up Q?"

Quinton's lower lip wobbled slightly, "I wet the bed," He whispered.

Stiles nodded slowly, "I see," He reached up and ran his fingers through the sleep mussed brown locks, "Did you clean yourself up before joining me? 'Cause otherwise you can't be all that comfortable my man."

Quinton nodded and snuggled into Stiles, "Derek helped me."

Stiles eyebrows shot up and he pushed himself back up onto his elbow, "Derek?"

"Uh huh."

Stiles looked over at his window, which was still shut tight. He glanced over at the door, but there was no one peeking in through the crack or leaning against the frame like he was expecting, "And where is Derek now?"

And great, apparently Derek was back in creeper mode. Seriously, the guy needed to learn that this wasn't Twilight and that Stiles in no way appreciated the midnight –well, morning if the clock and light were anything to go by – voyeurism.

"Left. Had'ta go to work. Said he'd see you later."

He stared down at Quinton who was nuzzling into his pillow. Derek…had a job? Well, that was interesting. What kind of job? Because Derek had spent a week up in Washington and had been planning on two. Stiles honestly couldn't think of any place of employment in Beacon Hills that would allow a person to run off for two weeks after only working for a few months. And Stiles knew for a fact that it had only been a few months because prior to that, he had been working on his house non-stop around all of the supernatural crap that went on.

And now…well, now there was no way Stiles was going to be able to get back to sleep. The shock from Quinton waking him up and the curiosity about Derek had been more than enough to wake him up beyond the point of falling back to sleep. Coffee would be sure to take care of the rest of the drowsiness.

He reached out and ruffled Quinton's hair, "You ready to get up or do you want to sleep a bit more?"

In all actuality, he should keep Quinton awake, in prep for school the following week, but that just seemed cruel if the five year old wanted to drop back off. Quinton's eyes unfocused as if he was contemplating how tired he still was before he shrugged and closed his eyes. Guess that answered that question.

Stiles climbed out of bed, grabbing his phone off of the side table as he went. He shot of a text to Derek that said, '**Hey, creeperwolf, let me know you're here next time…also, job?**' as he made his way to the bathroom.

Once his ablutions were taken care of, he detoured to what was now to be Quinton's room. He shook his head as he took in the bed, with its fresh sheets, and the distinct lack of dirty sheets anywhere in the room. Derek was…certainly something else.

He looked down when his phone buzzed in his hand, curious to see if Derek had really answered him or if Scott couldn't make it past first period without him, '**Your dad knew. And yes, job**_.' _was Derek's reply.

Well…well, that was…interesting. Rather than text Derek back (and again, what the hell kind of job because texting was allowed as well?) he made his way downstairs. His dad was gone already, the clock on the wall showing it was closer to eight then seven, and his dad's shifts this week were days. And huh, he had slept for over five hours nightmare free. That was pretty good. Well, more weird than good. He should have had nightmares. Because he had always been prone to them and his aunt's death had been pretty gory.

His phone buzzed again and he looked at it to see another text from Derek, '**How did you sleep?**'

Stiles frowned, _'_**I slept fine, actually. It was weird. Why?**'

'**You're not very observant then**_.'_

Hey…rude much? Stiles was plenty observant, thank you very much. Oh who was he kidding, between years of ADHD and eclectic interests, he was probably one of the least observant people out there most of the time. But, despite being rude, that was a pretty nice clue into what happened to his sleep. So Stiles retraced his steps, his first stop being Quinton's room.

There was nothing in there that was any different than last night, discounting the new sheets. Stiles cocked his head in confusion before his eyes widened in surprise, because there was only one thing he could really think of that could have supposedly helped. Derek was a fucking sneak. Stiles rushed back down to his room and peered inside, his eyes scanning the walls above his bed.

And yup, there it was. Derek had placed a dream catcher above his bed at some point after Stiles had fallen asleep. It was a beautiful catcher, still a circle but woven up like a crescent moon with a star at the upper right side, done in colors of blue and black which included the feathers. Stiles stepped closer and his jaw gaped open in shock. Dangling from the horizontal line of the star was a tooth, what looked to be a wolf molar. Which…what…?

Stiles slipped back out of his room and leaned against the wall, his phone clutched to his chest. Holy shit, what did he say to _that_?! Because for some reason, a thank you just did not seem sufficient enough to cover the fact that it looked like Derek had pulled one of his _own damned teeth out_.

He blinked to clear his eyes when his phone buzzed yet again, only this time to show an incoming call. Stiles eyebrows rose when he saw Derek's name flashing at him. He quickly swiped across to answer before clearing his throat, "Derek?"

"_Ah, you found it_**.**"

"Yes, yes I did," Stiles pushed away from the wall and peeked back into his room, "It's beautiful and kind of complex…but…tooth?"

"_It's mine. The tooth_**."**

Stiles had to bite back the whimper that wanted to crawl out of his throat. How the hell do you respond to _that – _thank you? That was so sweet?!Because, it wasn't…sweet…at all, "You…did you…"

There was a huff and Stiles could practically _feel_ Derek roll his eyes over the phone, "_I lost it last week sparing with Boyd_**.**"

Stiles was silent a moment as he processed that. Why hadn't he thought of that first? It certainly made more sense than Derek just pulling one out, "Oh. Uhm - I do have a question though. Aren't dream catchers…I mean, I didn't think that they actually worked? But last night, well this morning by the time I finally fell asleep, I had some pretty cool dreams all things considered and…"

"_The store bought ones don't, for the most part. Deaton cast a charm over that one. We're doing another one for Quinton as well."_

"We're?" Stiles eyebrow rose, "Derek, did you make the one for me?"

There was silence on the other side for a moment, "_Stiles, when would I have had the time? I've been with you non-stop for the last two and a half days_."

"Most commercial dream catchers are pretty basic though and this one is, well, amazing. Where did you find it?"

"_No, I think in this instance, I am going to keep that to myself. Now, I have to get back to work. I will see you later." _

"Derek…" Stiles pulled the phone away from his ear and frowned at the end call screen, "Not cool man," He muttered before sliding his phone into the pocket of his pajama pants. With a sigh, he trudged back downstairs and began poking around the fridge and cabinets, looking for something to make for breakfast.

* * *

Stiles watched as Quinton ran around the backyard with a squeal. The kid had so much _energy_ that it was exhausting just watching him sometimes. Stiles bit his lip and looked back down at his hand, where a perfectly innocuous sponge ball was resting on his palm.

He had been sitting in near the same position for the last twenty minutes, trying to get up the nerve to actually make the attempt at getting it to hover. The problem was, sponge ball or no, Stiles was a little worried about causing damage, especially when the whole point of this exercise was to avoid it. Stiles looked back up and watched as Quinton dive-bombed into the sandbox at the far corner of the yard.

The backyard was pretty sparse, save for his dads grill and Stiles old swing set that was moldering next to the sand box. There was some patio furniture, where Stiles was currently ensconced, but everything was metal and really thick decorative glass. Not much to really do damage to. And, really, it's not like any neighbors could see into the backyard, thanks to not only the nearest neighbor being an acre away but the tall hedges lining the yard all the way back to the woods as well.

So, yeah, nothing really to stop him except his own damned hesitation. If he didn't get over it any time soon, Deaton was going do the whole silent disappointment at him later which Stiles _hated._ Stiles had always preferred getting yelled at to the silence. It was one of the very few reasons he was glad his dad was now in on the whole werewolf thing…or always had been in and Stiles hadn't been as clever as he had thought, but whatever, the point was, his dad knew. Which meant no more lying, which meant no more disappointing silences especially since his dad was totally ace at them, probably honed in the knowledge that Stiles couldn't stand them.

Stiles took a deep breath and looked at the ball. He could do this. He could totally do this. He closed his eyes and felt for his magic, for the tingling sensation that now seemed to run rampant through his body. He willed that feeling towards his hands and, when he could feel it building, imagined it lifting the ball off of his hand.

He felt the ball leave his palm and he opened his eyes, before squinting slightly in confusion. What the hell? He didn't want the damn thing to disappear! He looked around, wondering where he had sent the ball, because it certainly wasn't hovering in front of his face like he had been hoping for.

Stiles suddenly flinched as something dropped on his head. Oh, look…the ball. Well….that answered that. He bent over and picked up the ball before glancing up. How high had he sent the thing? He set the ball back on his palm before doing what he had done prior, this time keeping an eye on the ball. To his utter shock, the ball shot up off of his palm and straight up into the tree branches hanging over the patio.

How could he think to control the whole magic thing if he could send a ball into Timbuktu with just a slight nudge? It was like trying to turn on a fire hydrant at a trickle instead of a surge. It seemed so damned impossible.

He took a breath and felt at the magic surrounding his hand, feeling the waves that seemed to be pouring off of it in order to keep the ball up near the ozone layer. He tried to gently stem off the flow, wondering idly if just cutting it back some would lower the ball back to some semblance of where he wanted it. However, try as he might, it seemed like his magic worked like an on and off switch rather than a dimmer. It was frustrating, made even worse when he flicked the flow off completely and the ball smacked him in the head again.

"Argh!" he yelled, whipping the ball into the yard in frustration.

Quinton's head popped up over the edge of the sandbox and eyed the ball with a curious tilt of his head. He climbed over the edge and crawled to the ball, picking it up with both hands like he was handling a glass jar of candy, before walking up to the patio, "Here Stiles."

Stiles sighed and pressed a kiss to the top of Quinton's head as he took the ball from the little hands cradling it, "Thanks buddy."

A shutter click had both boys turning to look at the side of the house where the gate into the back yard was. Isaac was standing there, phone in hand and a small smile on his face. Quinton's own face lit up, "Isaac! Isaac, Stiles was doin' magic. You gotta see. It was awesome! The ball went so high I couldn't even _see_ it at all."

Issac's eyebrows rose and he looked at the ball before glancing up at Stiles. Stiles shrugged and nodded his head for Isaac to come in. Isaac's smile turned into a grin and he turned to shut the gate before bounding over to the chair next to Stiles. He pulled Quinton onto his lap and gave Stiles a wide eyed look.

Stiles couldn't help but laugh when Quinton gave him the same look, both faces alight with something like wonder. It was a good thing, he supposed, that someone was impressed with his magic, even if he couldn't really do much with it yet, "All right, all right, hold your horses."

He held his hand out, palm out and set the ball on it. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, concentrating on it to steady himself. He closed his eyes and again, focused on the magic building up around his hand. The magic felt…odd, this time though, like there was a small filter in place to keep him from overloading around his palm. Not enough to actually do so, but Stiles could feel it trying. With eyes as wide as his observers, Stiles willed the magic to lift the ball into the air.

"Holy crap…" Isaac whispered.

Stiles stared up at the ball that was hovering at the tree line, rather than the stratosphere this time. Holy crap indeed. Still not perfect, not by a long shot, but so much better than it had been. He looked at Isaac and Quinton, who were both staring up with grins on their faces. Quinton looked over at him and laughed, "You did it Stiles!"

"I…" He pulled back his magic and watched the ball drop, slow enough that he was able to catch it, "Kind of? Still a little out of control, but it's nice to know I don't have to worry about freaking out any airplane pilots due to accidently bouncing it off of a plane windshield."

"You wouldn't have that worry if you had stayed inside," Isaac pointed out, a smirk on his face.

Stiles shrugged, "I wasn't exactly expecting it to fly into airspace, Isaac. As you can see, my control is slightly iffy. Besides, Q wanted to play outside. I wasn't going to deny him that."

Not that Stiles could deny Quinton anything anyway. It was a thing. They were working on it. Well, Stiles was working on it. Quinton was working on the high-powered puppy pout he had to have picked up from Scott.

Isaac cocked his head, "What was different this time?"

Stiles frowned, staring down at the ball in his hand, "I don't know. My magic felt different. Not a lot different but enough to be noticeable? It…well…it almost felt like there was supposed to be a pressure filter in place or something," He sighed, and leaned back in his chair, "Why are you here? Not that I mind or anything, so keep those eyes to yourself. I'm just curious."

Isaac shrugged and gave a shy smile, "I just thought that since I'll be watching Quinton for you, that I should get to know him a little, you know? Without the rest of the pack around."

"Makes sense. Well, have at it. I am going to go in and make a snack for us…and my dad, because he'll be home soon. Anything in particular?"

Quinton looked up at Isaac before looking at Stiles, "Can we come in too? I wanna color…and kale chips please."

Stiles groaned, "We don't have any kale, Q. I haven't been shopping for _us_ yet. How about jam and graham cracker cheesecake? I know I have the makings for that."

Quinton frowned, "I dunno what that is."

Isaac, on the other hand, looked ecstatic, "Oh, I love cheesecake. Yes to that. Kid, I swear, you are gunna love it."

"I guess," Quinton murmured, still looking a bit lost, "I do like graham crackers."

Stiles nodded, "Okay. Let me tell you, Q, it was my favorite snack growing up."

Stiles stood and led the way into the house, watching as Quinton guided Isaac to the table before running off to get his books. He smiled, "FYI, Quinton doesn't color so much as work on the puzzles in the book. His little mind is always going. It can get kind of boring though. The puzzles are definitely age geared."

"Are these the ones he had in his backpack last night?"

Stiles shrugged and dug through the fridge for the cream cheese, "Probably. Why?"

"When you and Derek were still at the store, Quinton, Scott, and I kinda completed one of the books. We were talking about maybe getting him a couple of slightly more advanced ones to replace it," Isaac replied as Quinton skipped back into the room, books and a box of crayons nestled in his arms, "Right Quin?"

Quinton gave a sharp nod, "Right," He placed the books on the table and looked at them a moment before sliding one over to Isaac, "You can have this one. Just the coloring left now."

Stiles looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow, "You're giving him the one with all the puzzles complete Q?"

"Yes. Gotta finish the whole book. No wasting."

"Ah, of course. Silly me," Stiles said, turning back to his task. It was certainly an easy enough snack, though he had never personally made it. Cream cheese, mixed with jam (strawberry because that was all that was allowed in the house) and spread on graham crackers. He placed the cream cheese in the microwave, breaking the crackers into halves as it softened. He then added the jam to the bowl with the cheese, making sure to mix it thoroughly before spreading the mixture onto the cracker halves. He placed a good amount on a couple of disposable plates before setting them on the table. He added a juice box for Quinton and a couple of glasses of milk for himself and Isaac.

Both he and Isaac then watched with expectant faces as Quinton picked up one of the square halves, looking at the mixture spread on top in interest. He screwed up his nose and nibbled on the corner like a little mouse.

Stiles laughed as Quinton's eyes lit up and he shoved the whole square into his mouth, "It's nummy!" Quinton garbled out around the crumbs he was valiantly trying to swallow.

Stiles shook his head, "I'm glad you think so, but we wait until there is no food in our mouths before speaking, remember?"

Quinton nodded, not at all sorry, grabbing another square. Stiles sighed and gave Isaac a 'what can you do' shrug and grabbed his own square, ignoring the young werewolf as he started giggling into his shoulder.

TBC….


	13. Dereks Intermission

See chapter one for disclaimer and summary.

A/N: I am so sorry that this is so late. When you work in retail, no matter what branch, the holidays are hell. Made even worse that I work in the food industry and we gotta keep the stores supplied. (I work for a food distribution warehouse).Ugh. So, here it is- Derek's chapter. I think I am going to go hide under a rock or something. I am not well versed in Derek so…

…Onwards and enjoy?

* * *

Derek was used to feeling pain. With his life, it wasn't all that surprising. But no matter how crappy emotional pain was, it was nothing compared the feeling of a pack bond link breaking off into the gaping maw of nothingness.

He had promptly wolfed out at the first snap and clutched at his chest as the rest of a bond link fell away. He gasped for air as he scrambled for something concrete to hang on to. Truthfully, it wasn't as bad as when his family died, he and Laura had been practically comatose for days following that after she had gotten him somewhere she deemed safe enough, but the pain of the loss was still debilitating.

Derek took a few deep breaths to calm himself. He needed to know…needed to know who he lost. His phone started ringing, Isaac's ringtone blaring in his ear so that was one down, but he ignored it, dropping down to sit on the couch. He closed his eyes and focused on the pack bond, feeling for the links.

There was Scott and Isaac, deep red and brilliant blue and _thriving_, interwoven with each other in a way that was beginning to show in life as well. He found the strands for Erica and Boyd, yellow and green and dancing around each other. Jackson's was there, a deep dark gray that was slowly turning to silver. Lydia's was there but faint, a light pinkish hue that had only started to form in the past month. That left Stiles…his honey colored link missing and in its place a black gaping hole that was threatening to eclipse the others.

Derek gasped and his eyes flew open just as his phone rang again – Scott this time. He practically fell off of the couch in his haste to get to it. "Scott?" He asked, right after he swiped the screen to answer it.

"Hey man. I just got off the phone with Stiles. He caught the flu, won't be able to make it tonight."

Derek's brow furrowed. Tonight? He glanced at the clock and frowned. It was one in the afternoon. The bond broke at…midnight? Why did he lose time? Stiles was only a human pack member. The breaking of his link shouldn't have been enough to send him comatose.

"Just thought I should let you know. I did get the research, though, his dad dropped off the drive. I gotta tell you, Derek, I think the Sheriff knows something. The look he gave me did not inspire the warm and fuzzies if you know what I mean…_and_ he said there would be talking soon."

Derek just nodded. That was no surprise. Probably some on the Sheriff's part about Scott, but beyond that? Derek wasn't stupid. He knew the Sheriff was already aware of some of what was going on. And was more than in the know about werewolves; He probably knew more than Derek, to be honest, and he had been born one.

"Stiles is okay though?"

"Yeah. Yeah, man, he's fine. Sounded a little rough and was ready to bolt to the bathroom when I hung up with him, but other than that? Just a human illness."

"Okay. I'll see you at the meeting."

Derek hung up the phone and dropped it onto the cushion next to him. Stiles was okay then. So what the hell broke the bond? Because death was generally one of the major contributors, especially with a human that didn't know that the bonds were literal. There was a third option, and it was one that brought Derek up short. If it wasn't by choice or by death, the only option was that something else had broken the bond.

Derek groaned and dropped his head onto his hands. Shit. Stiles was going to _kill_ him.

* * *

"Sir."

The Sheriff rolled his eyes, "It's John, for the last time. Sit down son, before you pass out."

Derek dropped into the chair situated across from the Sheriff's, _John's_. He cleared his throat and clenched his hands in his lap, "How's he doing?"

John sighed and shook his head, looking out the window that gave a panoramic view of the bullpen, "Not good. Wasn't expecting this, you know? Neither of us. If we had, if I had, it might have been different. But Claudia was so sure that he took after me..." John shook his head, "Not to mention, I'm pretty sure something happened at school earlier today. He told me he was ready to go back, but changed his mind right before first period. Decided to take his aunt's offer and head up north now rather than wait a few days. I'm picking up his ticket at lunch."

Derek nodded and looked down at the desk, "I kind of wish I had told him now."

John snorted, "You and me both. Still, doesn't change the facts any. Just gotta handle the fallout now. He'll be fine. Meranda is a good woman and to be honest? I'm probably one of the few men in the world that get along with my in-laws, so that says a lot about them. He'll be fine." John repeated, leaning towards Derek with a look of certainty on his face.

Derek agreed, having known Meranda from when he was a kid, but that didn't stop him from tailing the Sheriff and Stiles to the train station, hiding in the shadows as they said their goodbyes. He knew Stiles didn't want to see him, see any of the pack, the fact that he was hiding what had happened to him was pretty telling in that respect.

In a way, he was irritated about the fact that Stiles felt that the pack couldn't be trusted but Derek had also seen the way that Stiles was treated. Derek understood. He was doing his best to get through to the rest of the teens, but it wouldn't be completely fixed until Stiles came back.

Once the train had left the station, he met the Sheriffs gaze across the platform and nodded in acknowledgement before leaving. He had work to do.

The following week was rough. The hole that Stiles had left, the literal one in the bundle of the pack bond links, wasn't healing. It wasn't closing up like it should have been, like the ones from his family had done so many years ago. Maybe it was different because Stiles was still alive, like the bond knew that, but knowing that didn't stop it from hurting.

Derek wondered from time to time if this was how other alpha's felt when a pack mate became an omega by choice. There had been a few when he was a kid, but his mom had never shown any indication, had never let the rest of the pack feel how she felt when a link snapped. And afterwards had gone on as if nothing had happened, never letting it show that it could hurt so damned much still.

By Friday, he couldn't take it anymore. He sent Scott a text telling him he was in charge for the next two weeks and left the house, heading to Stiles'. His timing was pretty apt, as he caught John heading out for work. John took one look at Derek and sighed.

"Tomorrow, I'm leaving tomorrow night. You're buying dinner. Be here at six."

Derek nodded and had proceeded to spend the next day and a half in a minor panic over the hopefully upcoming confrontation. He had booked a motel room at the edge of town where Stiles aunt and grandfather lived, after badgering the Sheriff about where they were going most of Saturday morning. John had only given in when Derek pointed out that while he needed to see Stiles, Stiles wasn't quite ready to see him yet and it might be better for Derek to lay low and let Stiles come to him rather than just barge into the house behind the Sheriff.

Some of the reason was that it was Stiles birthday the next day and Derek just didn't want to intrude. The other was that until he heard from Stiles, he was going to keep his distance. He just wanted the aching to _stop_ already and was hoping that the lack of distance between the two of them would help.

Derek spent Sunday scoping out the area and skulking around Stiles' aunt's house, hoping to catch sight of the birthday boy. There were a few glimpses that seemed to be enough for the hole in him, which had scaled back from a horrible pressure to a dull constant ache, once Stiles was close again.

Monday rolled around and Derek couldn't help but follow Stiles and his little cousin as they made their way towards the water. Stiles looked happy and pretty carefree, but there was a shadow over his eyes that Derek didn't understand. Not completely. He had a feeling it had to do with him…him and the pack, but he couldn't figure out why.

He had stayed behind the trees and watched as the two sat down to eat, Stiles teasing his cousin and the little boy laughing at him. It made him smile, made his inner wolf happy, to see Stiles be so good with children. Which…wait, what? Derek shook his head. Now was not the time to be thinking those thoughts. He didn't care what his wolf wanted, what _he_ wanted as the wolf was as much him as he it, Stiles had to come first and despite it all, Stiles was a teenager.

Lust was an all too common emotion for them and it was really the only thing Derek could sense around the teen. It didn't matter that Derek had fallen head over heels for the teenager in the past few months. He couldn't allow himself to get up the hope that there was more there for Stiles, not with the age difference there. He rubbed at his chest with a frown as the ache flared up and receded before glancing back at Stiles, who suddenly met his eyes.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Derek waited a moment for Stiles to do his natural flailing in shock, because the boy was nothing if not predictable in his reactions, before slipping away behind a tree. He closed his eyes and felt for his wolf, using it to mask his scent and heartbeat, to help him blend into the forest like he would if he were on the hunt. The wolf whined at the back of his head but obliged. It didn't like hiding from Stiles, that much was certain.

When he was sure that he was sufficiently covered, he peaked around the tree and saw that Stiles was packing up the basket. He slipped away on silent feet.

He watched from the trees as Stiles carried his cousin back to the house, had listened in to Stiles talking to his aunt and felt the guilt at Stiles words. Christ. He needed to fix this somehow, someway.

He kept his distance throughout the week, only receiving a few texts from John saying that Stiles was getting closer to being able to talk to Derek. It was a relief, knowing that soon this would all be behind them. As long as Stiles could forgive him for not telling him about his past, about what his mom had been and how Derek had known that is. That worried him a little, but until it came to pass, there was nothing he could really do about it.

Derek watched as John left, knowing that soon he would be getting that phone call, that Stiles had left his phone back in Beacon Hills and they had to keep up pretenses somehow, pretend that John didn't already have Derek's number. That Derek didn't already have Stiles' aunt's number programed into his own phone. He slipped back up into the trees to wait, knowing that some answers would soon be coming soon.

* * *

One thing that Derek had noticed during his time spent with Stiles was that the hurt in his chest became more and more manageable. He wasn't completely pain free, and he thought maybe some of that was empathy for Stiles and Quinton, but he was as close to it as he thought he was going to get until Stiles decided he was ready to bond with the pack again…if he decided to that was.

Meranda's death had hit all of them hard, though it hadn't affect Quinton much yet, but Derek knew that kids were resilient and tended to handle grief in their own ways. Derek just made sure that Isaac, and Scott because where one went the other was sure to follow, understood that Quinton didn't understand yet what had happened to his mom and that when it finally hit home, the meltdown would likely be epic.

Stiles, on the other hand, had witnessed the death first hand – had given a small, valiant attempt at healing her before she had stopped him. The teen was handling it fairly well, all things considered, but Derek had been there for the first nightmare and knew that more were likely to follow.

It was that thought that had him seeking out Isaac when they had gotten back to Beacon Hills. The boy had a hidden talent, one that he didn't want the pack to know about for fear of teasing, what had been a coping mechanism against a cruel father that hadn't handled familial death nearly as well as Sheriff Stilinski had.

Isaac bit his lip as he looked over the drawing Derek handed him, "I can do this. Intricate, but simple at the same time. But, Derek, dream catchers don't really work. They are used more as decoration than anything."

Derek nodded, "I know, but I talked to Deaton. Stiles is prone to nightmares and he just witnessed something pretty gruesome in a split second situation. He needs to cope without the fear of sleeping over his head. This design," He tapped at the paper, "Was worked out to help maximize a spell that Deaton is going to cast on the catcher. Essentially a goodwill spell woven with a sleep spell."

"Oh," Isaac blinked and looked back down, "Why…why didn't you…"

Derek shook his head and pulled the teen into a gentle hug, "It wouldn't have worked for you, Isaac. The spell from Deaton is going to latch on to Stiles, for a reason that I can't disclose just yet. Trust me when I say that if I thought that it would have, I would have spelled hundreds of these things for you."

Isaac let out a watery laugh and rubbed his face on Derek's shoulder, "I think this has to be the longest conversation we've ever had, baring catastrophic events. And I do…trust you, that is. I'll get started on this right away. Might even have it finished by tomorrow night if nothing goes wrong."

Sunday morning, Derek laid in wait in the middle of the puppy pile as Stiles had called it, waiting for the small window he would need to talk to John. It didn't come until Stiles enclosed himself in the bathroom and Derek knew he would have to be quick. He slid Quinton onto Scott's chest and ran to the kitchen on silent feet, where he found the Sheriff lovingly bringing out a waffle iron while all but cooing at it.

"Uhm…"

John straightened and looked over his shoulder, not an ounce of guilt on his face at getting caught, "Waffles, Derek. Waffles."

"Sure, waffles. Look," Derek stepped further into the kitchen and gave a brief thought to be glad that Stiles still hadn't thought to use his hearing powers for evil, "I have an idea to help Stiles with his nightmares, but he can't know about it right away. It negates the magic. Can you text me tonight when he goes to bed?"

"Magic?" The Sheriff straightened and squared his shoulders, "I'm not sure…"

Derek heard the toilet flush and the sink turn on, "It's a dream catcher that Isaac is making," Derek interrupted, "Deaton is spelling it, but it will only work with Stiles magic. It'll help him sleep."

John sat down at the table and grabbed the paper, a thoughtful look on his face, "Well, anything that helps, I suppose."

A faint sort of contentedness had hung over Derek through the rest of the day, though the pack meeting had all but killed it. It wasn't surprising in the end and he was going to have to find time to sit down and have a serious conversation with Jackson, about what he wanted, because Jackson's attitude could become destructive to the pack if not handled soon. Erica was another one on his list to talk to, because he was sure that the way she acted not only around him but Stiles was likely doing some not so good things to Boyd's psyche given how much in love with her he was.

While Stiles talked to Quinton, Derek slipped out of the house and to the car to let it warm up some before leaving. When he got in, he noticed a book lying on the passenger seat, the plain cover not giving anything away.

Derek was not a naturally curious person. He didn't actively seek out problems, which probably wasn't a good thing as an Alpha who had to keep a pack safe, but he also wasn't one to pass up on opportunities when presented to him. He tuned in to Stiles and by the sounds of it figured he had about another minute before the teen left the house.

He grabbed the book off the seat and flipped open the cover. The first drawing was of Scott staring off into the distance, the look on his face showing that he was probably gazing at Allison. The date at the bottom an even bigger hint into that besotted expression. The following few were nearly the same, a few of Allison and Stiles dad mixed in.

There was one or two of Lydia and Danny, followed by a few pages of the Beta's. He came across two of Meranda, one of an old man that looked to be in his seventies that was likely Stiles grandfather, and a good ten pages of drawings of Quinton. He also found the gap where Stiles had ripped out the drawing of Alex. Then there was nothing but blank pages.

Derek frowned at that and randomly flipped his thumb along the rest of the book. It wasn't that he was hoping Stiles had drawn him, but he had done the rest of the pack, even Erica and Jackson whom he didn't get on with. It just seemed odd that there wasn't one of him.

He paused when a flash of dark caught his sight. He flipped to that page and found his own face glaring up at him. His breath caught in his throat and he turned the page, watching as the expressions that Stiles drew of him changed from one drawing to the next until he came to the last one.

It was half completed and smudged along the jaw line, like someone had been running their finger absently along the ridge. The look that Stiles had drawn on his face was one of intense concentration, his eyebrows drawn in like he was staring at something in front of him, trying to puzzle it out. There was no anger on his face, nothing but absorption that showed in the slightly hunched shoulders as he stared down. He flipped back to the start of his section and flipped through again, coming to an insane realization as he watched the transformation.

The realization was that there was a chance, maybe, that Stiles could have more feelings for him other than lust. The thing was, Derek wasn't too sure how to go about finding out if that was true or not. It's not like he was the most experienced guy around.

He heard the front door open but didn't look up from the half completed drawing until he heard Stiles stumble to a stop a few feet from the car. He raised his head slowly and took in Stiles expression and heartbeat. Panic and a small flare of shame slammed into Stiles and Derek had his answer.

* * *

Derek couldn't help but worry as midnight came and went and there was still no text from the Sheriff – he didn't care what the man said, he would always be the Sheriff in his head because anything less was just disrespectful. Did the older man fall asleep before Stiles? Or was it just that Stiles was having problems sleeping?

Guilt kind of joined in with the worry at that thought, but Derek knew that he couldn't be there all the time, no matter how easily the teen slept in his presence. Stiles was still only eighteen and no matter how understanding the Sheriff was, Derek was not going to take advantage of the man's general hospitableness. He couldn't. Not if he wanted this thing with Stiles to go further without hostility dogging their tails…and oh, God, he was definitely spending too much time with Stiles if he was making dog puns in his head now. Although, to be fair, Derek hadn't heard a dog joke from Stiles since his own transformation.

Finally, at around two, the text came…and Derek couldn't help but laugh at how much the two Stilinki's were alike. The man may have learned to control it now, but apparently when he was tired, the control slipped and he became as ramble prone as Stiles.

'**He's finally asleep. Front door is unlocked, lock it behind you. I'm going to bed. I have shift at nine. Bring me coffee later. It's a start for the payback you will be doing for making me stay up. Christ, I'm too old for this**.'

Derek slid out of the booth at the diner where he had taken up camp after leaving Deaton's, because the diner was far closer to the Stilinski house then his house was, and paid for his coffee and two pieces of pie. The lady behind the counter, an older woman named Beatrice that had been business acquaintances with his mother and liked to coddle him whenever he came in, smiled at him and pushed his money away, "Next time dear," She said, before turning her back on him.

Derek rolled his eyes but smiled as he walked out. It was always next time with her. He had started leaving his payment in the tip jar, but didn't feel it was enough for how well she treated him and, oddly, the rest of his pack. Her diner was becoming a favored hangout for them and it helped that he had a niggling feeling that she was quite aware of what they were. He was working on a way to pay her back. He couldn't not.

He drove the mile to Stiles house and parked the car next to the cruiser in front of the garage. He slipped out of the car and popped the trunk, carefully lifting out the box that was nestled between the case holding Stiles blades and the side wall. He knew, intellectually, that nothing could really harm the catcher, it was string and wood and a single tooth (his, as Deaton needed a supernatural element to cast the initial charm on), but he still handled it with extreme care.

Derek slipped into the house and locked the door behind him. He couldn't help the small smile that came and went when he saw that the Sheriff had left the hall light on for him. It wasn't really necessary.

He climbed the stairs and raised an eyebrow at how well lit the upstairs hall was. Each of the plugs along the base of the wall had nightlights plugged in, all five bright enough to light the way but dim enough to not overpower through door cracks. Certainly a good idea for a five year old in a strange house. Speaking of, Derek slipped passed Stiles room and walked down the hall to the two last bedrooms that were situated across from each other.

The Sheriff was in the one on the right next to the bathroom and hall closet. It was obvious with the deeper breathing and intermittent grumbling, something else Stiles seemed to have inherited from his father. No concrete words, but obvious talking in his sleep. Which meant that the guest room was the one next to Stiles. He opened the door slowly and peaked in, not even needing his enhanced eyesight as there had to be another three to four nightlights in the room as well. Quinton was out, but he was twitching in the throes of a dream.

Derek frowned and looked down at the box in his hand. He walked back down to Stiles room and slipped inside, setting the box down on the desk. He opened it and pulled the dream catcher out, nodding in satisfaction when it started to hum in his hands. That was a good thing, a great thing really. Proof that it was actually working.

He carefully edged along the bed and hung it up on a nail that the Sheriff had put in while they had been out earlier. He watched as Stiles sighed and settled deeper into sleep. Mission accomplished, then. Derek closed the teen's laptop and set it on the chair next to the bed before leaving the room.

He was tempted to leave, to go home and sleep before he went back to work, but then he heard Quinton shuffling in bed and couldn't help himself. He shot a quick text for the Sheriff to find in the morning, so he was aware that Derek was still there and went to the bathroom to strip out of his clothes before transforming into his wolf form. He then made his way to Quinton's room.

TBC….

As you can see, probably not what you were expecting. This was a flash chapter of everything that had happened _so far _from Derek's POV. There will be at least one more. I might do a third at the end, right before the epilogue. We'll see when I get there.


	14. Chapter 13

See chapter one for disclaimer and summary

A/M: Sorry for the wait folks. I was waiting to get this back from Beta…over a month and a half ago…and then it just kinda slipped my mind as other things went on and it never came back. So...enjoy.

* * *

Stiles was in the kitchen, prepping to make a comforting dinner of tater tot casserole –at Isaac's request, because Stiles was learning that he couldn't really deny Isaac something that made his eye's glow in happiness- when the doorbell rang. Stiles frowned and glanced into the dining room slash office (because that table had been covered in files and files only since Stiles was about four), where his dad was sitting with a couple of case files open, "You expecting anybody?"

John shook his head and rubbed at his eyes as he leaned back in his chair, "Nope. You either?"

"Isaac's upstairs with Q and according to his last text, Derek is working late."

John gave a small hum, "Well, then, are you going to answer the door? Or just leave whoever is out there to freeze?"

"Yeah, yeah," Stiles grumbled, tossing the can opener that he had been wielding onto the counter, "I'm going."

Stiles wasn't sure why, but he was half expecting Derek to be on the other side of the door, no matter that the Alpha had to work. Mostly because Stiles could not think of another person that would stop by and actually use the doorbell. Scott didn't even knock anymore. Actually, he hadn't ever knocked, treating the Stilinki's like a second home rather than just a friends place.

He was so firmly stuck on the idea that it was Derek that he nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Lydia standing there, looking decidedly out of place on their faded porch and out of the way neighborhood, "Lydia…hi?" Stiles said, once he managed to regain his momentum.

"Stiles. I thought that we might go over what I found on Kelpies, given that you weren't in school today."

Stiles frowned at the accusation that was so obvious in her voice, "I was already excused. Dad thought it would be a good idea to keep the week to make sure Quinton settled okay…" His frown deepened, "Why am I even telling you this?"

Lydia hitched her purse up her shoulder, as a matching frown started to etch its way onto her face, "I'm not sure and to be honest, I don't care. May I come in?"

Stiles gave her a jerky nod and stepped back to allow her entrance, "I was just preparing dinner. Would you like to stay?"

Lydia looked at him, her head cocked slightly, "That would depend on what you're having."

"Ah," Stiles scrambled to shut the door before motioning her down the hall, "Tater tot casserole. It's going to be about half an hour until it's done, if you don't mind waiting."

"All right. Sounds good," She set her purse on the kitchen table and began shucking out of her jacket, "Hello Sheriff Stilinski."

John looked up from the table, a surprised expression overtaking him, "Miss Martin?"

"I have some information to go over with Stiles and he invited me to dinner. I hope that is okay?"

"Sure. The more the merrier," John said, giving her a smile. His eyes met Stiles when Lydia left the kitchen to hang up her coat on the rack by the door, "Really? Is this a good thing?" John asked quietly.

Stiles let out a gusty sigh and shook his head just as Lydia came back in, "So!" He said, his voice coming out more…faked enthusiasm than he had aimed for. He winced and turned back to the counter, "What have you found?"

This was just so…awkward. He didn't really know how to act around Lydia, not after the homecoming dance months ago and her reconciliation with Jackson. Lydia may have been best friends with Allison when she was still in Beacon Hills, and more than willing to come out about her smarts now while at school, but she still tended to treat Stiles like he was beneath her. Part of that was because of how he had acted around her for all those years of his crush, he knew that, he wasn't stupid. But those days were gone and now he was just slightly intimidated by how she used her smarts, always wondering what her endgame was.

Lydia was silent for a moment and Stiles had to fight the need to look over his shoulder to see what she was doing. Instead, he focused on getting the meat out and a pan to brown it in. Finally, there was a rustling behind him and he gave an internal sigh of relief. He couldn't tell what it was Lydia must have been looking for, but Stiles figured he passed…or she found her answer to whatever it was she was waiting on. Whatever.

"Kelpies are pretty straightforward creatures. They are able to shift from horse to human and if their bridle is stolen, they are stuck in horse form and whoever has the bridle can control them with it. There are one or two large kelpie families that live in the ocean, though most prefer lakes or rivers due to the proximity of humans. I think that Alex is from one of the saltwater tribes."

Stiles nodded as he broke up the meat. Nothing he didn't already know, Stiles had done his own research after all. He fumbled for the can of mushrooms and the Mrs. Dash seasoning, dumping both into the pot as Lydia continued.

"Saltwater kelpies are a slightly different batch than fresh. They are more prone to violence." Stiles eyes widened at that bit of news and looked over his shoulder at Lydia, who was frowning down at the tablet in her hand, "It doesn't say why, but if I were to guess, water temperatures and a onetime lack of prey bred true. Salt water kelpies three hundred years ago, at least here in the US, wouldn't have had much of a chance at catching humans. So when one did come along, they likely had to fight each other for it…" She gave Stiles a sharp smile, "Darwinism at its finest."

Her smile dropped away as suddenly as it appeared, "There is something that I am not quite clear on, however."

Stiles, who was in the process of turning off the burner and walking to the sink to drain the beef and mushrooms, paused mid step. It was always, always, worrying when Lydia admitted to not understanding something, "What?" he asked warily.

"Well," she started, twirling a lock of hair around her finger, as she stared at the space above Stiles shoulder, "Kelpies generally do not hang around fairies…of any kind. They are highly susceptible to fae magic. The beastiary doesn't say whether they can literally sense fae, but…wouldn't it make the most sense that they could? How did Alex not know your aunt was a fairy?"

Stiles shrugged lightly, because that was a good question, "Don't know."

"I do," John said, stepping into the kitchen. He tossed an empty bottle into the recycle bin before grabbing another water out of the fridge, "Meranda told you that she became a heavy drinker after your mom died, but it was more than that."

Lydia's eyes widened, "Of course! If chemically made drugs can alter body composition, imagine what it could to magic? Especially a magic where the power is tied to nature at its core."

"You're saying that Aunt Meranda did drugs? Like meth and cocaine and stuff? That kind of thing?" Stiles asked in shock.

John nodded, his face the very definition of sad. Not as deep as when his wife was brought up, but close. It was a standing testament to just how well John had gotten on with his in-laws, "She got low Stiles. Very low. Finding out Alex was a kelpie was enough of a shock to get her to your grandfathers, your mom's bow showing up took care of the rest."

Stiles frowned, "She told me that the bow showing up was how she knew mom died."

"No, it was after. That bow was infused with your mom's magic. It knew that Meranda needed that tangible piece of your mom in order to get better. She just didn't want you to know about the drugs," John said, grabbing Stiles around the shoulders in a careful hug, "That's all."

Stiles nodded and turned to the sink. He had a feeling it was going to take a bit to let that piece of news sink in. He knew, though, what grief could do and his aunt had lost so much. In a way, Stiles wasn't all that surprised. If he had been old enough at that time, he probably would have slipped into something illegal too.

Once the meat was drained, he dumped the pot into the casserole dish before starting the layers. Stiles didn't make this very often, despite his love of it, it was just too unhealthy for his dad to have all of the time. But once in a while wouldn't kill him and Stiles needed the comfort the dish provided to stem some of his nerves about what was possibly going to happen at Deaton's later that night. All in all, he was pretty glad that Isaac had suggested it.

He added the green bean layer next, smiling sadly at the memory of his mom loudly insisting on french cut only in the store when she planned this dish. Next was the cream of mushroom soup and milk, followed by a thick layer of fried onions. He slapped away his dad's hand when it slipped into view to steal an onion, before popping one into his own mouth and sending his dad a cheeky grin when he huffed. Finally, the layer of tater tots was added before it went into the oven. God, it still had to cook and it already smelt good. The wait was going to drive him nuts.

He cleaned up his mess and finally turned his attention back to Lydia, who was watching him with a weird sort of attentiveness that had never really been directed at him before. He cleared his throat and grabbed two waters out of the fridge, handing her one, before saying, "So, was there anything else?"

Before she had a chance to answer, there was a pounding on the stairs and Isaac all but ran into the kitchen, "Stiles, Quin…"

Stiles dropped the water bottle onto the table and pushed past the young wolf, bolting up the stairs. He ran down to Quinton's room, where his cousin had been showing Isaac some of his most favorite toys ever, heart turning over in his chest at the crying he could hear. Stiles gripped the door jam and looked around the room.

Quinton was curled up in a ball in the corner, arms around his knees as he wailed. It broke Stiles heart. He stepped into the room and walked over to his cousin, sitting down between the five year old and the wall so his legs were bracketing the small boy. He wrapped his arms around Quinton and pressed his face into the sweet smelling hair in front of him, "Shh, Q, Its okay, I'm here…" he murmured softly.

Quinton turned in Stiles arms and threw his little ones around Stiles neck, gripping tight. A face buried into his neck and Quinton started babbling. Stiles couldn't make anything out, Quinton was crying too heavily for that, but a few words snuck through, mainly 'want' and 'mama'.

Stiles rocked him gently, crooning softly into his ear, and looked up when he heard footsteps at the door. His dad was standing there, a wet sheen in his eyes as he took in the sight.

"Dad," Stiles croaked, "Dad, I can't…"

John moved quickly and sat down, pulling his son and nephew into his arms. Stiles went willingly, trying to comfort a five year old that wanted his mom was too much. Too much to handle, too much of a reminder…

"We knew this was coming," John said into Stiles hair, as Quinton's cries dwindled down into an exhausted sleep.

Stiles nodded, "Doesn't make it easier."

"It never does," John sighed and stood up before gently tugging Quinton out of Stiles arms and laying him on the bed, "Isaac said that Quinton was telling him a story about one of his toys and just kind of…lost it," John said with a wave of his hand, "Before the crying got too bad, Quinton was talking about remembering her."

Stiles stood up as well and grabbed a tissue from the box on the nightstand, using it to clean up Quinton's face, "He thinks he's going to forget her," Stiles said in understanding.

"We'll make sure that your grandfather sends down pictures along with the rest of the stuff, whenever he gets back to the house."

Stiles let out a tired snort, "If he can. We still haven't gotten the all clear from the police department up there."

"Well," John said with another tired sigh, "When he can."

* * *

Stiles was kind of nervous about tonight. He hadn't anywhere near mastered control over his powers and without that control, he wasn't entirely certain that Deaton would be able to teach him anything. Well, nothing big anyway.

He slid out of the jeep and carefully bundled the books his aunt had given him into his arms before starting up to the front door of the vet's office. The lights were dimmed and the sign flipped to closed, but when Stiles tested the knob of the door, it turned easily in his hand.

Stiles pushed the door open and stepped in, only to be smacked in the face with a piece of paper. He reared back and batted it away, frowning when it stuck to his hand, "The hell?!"

He flipped his hand over and caught sight of Scott's chicken scratch, "Lock the door behind you. We'll be done soon," He muttered out loud and then watched in awe as the paper unstuck from his hand and slipped to the floor, "That was cool! Totally want to learn do that," He mused to himself as he shut the door and flipped the lock. There were already so many, many twisted ideas coming to mind. His thought process then detoured, much like it had during his ADHD days, into the various ways that such a spell could beneficial to keeping him and the pack safe and whether or not it could be expounded upon.

He was still deep in thought when Scott's voice echoed around him, "Oh, good. You're here. Doc sent me up to check. He doesn't like leaving the door unlocked long if he's not open."

Stiles blinked his eyes open and frowned at Scott, "What is a man-made lock going to do against anything that we tend to run up against?"

"In this instance," Deaton said, as he walked into the main office while wiping his hands on a towel, "It's more the human's that I am concerned about. I have other protections in place to help circumvent supernatural entry, but those do nothing when it comes to human's. I tend to come off as congenial and easy mannered, which many of the wayward youth in town believe includes gullible."

"Dad's never said anything about you or this place getting robbed," Stiles said, raising an eyebrow before glancing at Scott, who just shrugged his shoulders in bemusement.

"Of course not. I lock my doors," Deaton said, tossing the towel onto the counter, "I see that you brought your books. You can set them on the counter. Just give me a moment to clean up in back." With that, Deaton turned and walked back through the door.

"Deaton said that you're gunna be practicing out here since there is more room and less…sharp objects," Scott said, making for the blinds on the door and windows.

Stiles huffed out a laugh and set the books down before walking over to help close up the blinds, "It's nice that he has such faith in my magical abilities," He paused in the process of reaching for one of the wands, "Though, to be fair, I don't trust my magic around sharp objects yet either."

Scott laughed at him before it died away as he dropped onto the waiting room couch, "You didn't bring Quin?"

Stiles shook his head, "No. I've been tugging Quinton around with me like he's been mine when dad is his actual guardian. Dad pointed it out earlier when I ran to Q when he had a bit of a breakdown. Dad said I've been acting like a…well, like his parent, rather than his soon to be older brother."

"That might be something you can't help."

Stiles jumped and clutched at his chest before glaring at Deaton, "Not cool man. A little more noise would be greatly appreciated when you walk into a room. And what do you mean, something I can't help?"

Deaton sighed, "How did you treat young Quinton during your trip north?"

Stiles cocked his head slightly in thought, "Not that much different from now. I mean, sure, I'm a bit more over protective because there is a freaking killer horse out there that probably wants Quinton, but yeah, it was the same. I dragged that kid off with me all the time to help Aunt Meranda out," Stiles shrugged, "Why? What does that have to do with anything?"

"Fairies, like wolves, are pack like in nature though fairies don't call it as such. Generally they just build up a little town and have their own small families within one larger one. As such, since they see the entire community as a family, many older fairies tend to consider the younger ones their own in how they treat them. That includes not only discipline but also protective instincts. Fairies don't find this unusual behavior in the least, not like humans would. In the case of you and Quinton, it is worse. You already have a blood link in place, cared for him like a parent for almost two full weeks, and then his true parent died while you were there. The part of you that is fae has essentially adopted Quinton as your child, had done from the moment your aunt died."

Stiles blinked at Deaton, "So, what…congratulations Stiles, it's a _boy_?"

"Basically, yes. Of course, things are probably different a bit by the fact that you are a hybrid, but likely not by much. Not if what I have seen thus far is any indication. Quinton probably looks at you in the same manner as well. This is not a one sided deal, unfortunately."

"Great," Stiles groaned out softly, "Just turned eighteen and a father to a five year old. This kind of puts all the teen-mom crap to shame. Dad's going to love this."

"Dude," Scott said, punching Stiles on the shoulder, "You have to admit that it's kind of cool."

Stiles couldn't help the small grin that flit onto his face, "I guess."

It kind of was, ignoring the circumstances and how his father was going to react to it. He knew he loved his cousin, of that there had been no doubt, but he hadn't thought there was anything weird to how he was acting until his dad had pointed it out. He honestly hadn't stopped to look at it like an outsider would, that to them it would look like Stiles was the one with guardianship. Stiles had instantly felt awkward about it, had stammered that he would step back some, but had spent the drive to Deaton's wondering if it was even going to be possible. Now he knew it wouldn't be and why. It was something of a relief.

"I will explain things to your father. A couple of the K-9's are due shot's tomorrow and he generally brings them in. It will be a good time for the conversation. Now then," Deaton clapped his hands together once, "Scott- I'm going to need your help. I have a theory about Stiles magic that I want to test. For now, can you go back and feed the cats? I'll call you back up front in a few minutes."

"Sure thing doc," Scott said, before throwing a salute at Stiles and heading around the counter and through the door.

"Now, Scott told me that you had been practicing earlier?"

Stiles let his mouth gape open slightly before he shook his head. When would Scott and Isaac had the time to talk? Isaac had come over straight after school and Scott had gone to work. He shrugged, "I guess, if that's what you want to call it. It was more like a test to scare some airplane pilots." At Deaton's confused look, Stiles elaborated, "Derek had an idea about using a foam ball and trying to make it hover for control. I was outside and sent the ball into airspace.

"It was weird though. One of the things my grandfather taught me was how to feel for my magic, because it makes preparing potions easier if you can control the flow you put into it. I never could control it but sensing it was easy. When I did that while hovering a ball, the magic felt like a waterfall – just one that would end soon because from what I understand magic can be worn out if used too much at once."

Deaton nodded, "Magic is energy and just like energy it can be depleted. When that happens, it takes time to build it back up again. Scott said that Isaac was there?"

"Yeah, that's where the weird part comes in. When Isaac arrived, and I made the ball hover again, it felt like there was something different about my magic."

"Which is where my theory stems from. Yesterday, when I had you make that hole, do you remember how that felt? Was it different from when you made the ball hover when Isaac _wasn't _there?"

Stiles bit his lip as he thought back. He remembered the anxiety of so many eyes on him, the expectant looks he had been given at the thought of a show. He remembered closing his eyes to make the attempt, mostly out of not wanting to see, but also to concentrate on what he wanted to happen. And then… "Yeah, kind of. It felt more like when Isaac was there today, I just hadn't noticed at the time. It felt like…well, like there should be a filter in place or a pressure gauge that I can control. It feels like something is _missing_."

"That would be because if I am right, something is," Deaton joined him in front of the counter with a box in hand, "Thankfully your magic works on intent rather than spell work or this would be a little more difficult. I am going to make a wall out of these cans of food. What I want you to do is use a gust of wind to take out only the two middle towers without knocking the rest over."

Stiles crossed his arms, "Well, that's not asking a lot at all, is it? I can guarantee that all of them are going to go."

"Mm, I'm expecting them to. At least, this first time anyway. Scott will be out here for the second attempt. I want to measure your control."

"Measure my what? How is that even possible?"

Deaton gave him a small smile as he stood from the crouch he had been in while setting up the cans, "With magic, of course. Useful little spell, it will tell me the strength of your spell. Handy for reconnaissance missions dealing with witches and other magic users."

"Uh huh."

"Now, remember, just the middle two towers. I left enough of a gap that the cans falling over will not knock into the other towers."

Stiles let out a huff of air before turning to the cans. He could do this, he could so do this. So what if it was something he had never tried before. It couldn't be all that different than making a hole for plants. He held his hands out, fingers cupped slightly, before closing his eyes. He pictured the two middle towers falling backwards before he let his magic flow out of him.

He heard the whooshing of the magic manifesting into wind followed be a large bang as the air blast hit them at what sounded like hurricane speeds. He heard quite a few clunks as some of the cans hit the wall and chair and the rustling of shades as one went high enough to hit the window.

"Shit," He muttered, opening his eyes to take in the damage. Quite a few of the cans were dented and there were a few nicks in the wall paint. The shade that he had hit was bent and one of the blinds was bent at an angle that suggested it was broken.

"Fascinating," Deaton murmured and Stiles looked over to see him looking down at a sheet of paper in his hand, "Well off the charts. What did it feel like?"

"It felt…wild, feral."

Deaton nodded and walked over to the counter, pressing a button on the phone, "You can come back up now Scott."

Deaton went about resetting the cans, replacing a few that had been dented beyond use. Scott came up behind Stiles and surveyed the scene, "Damn man. I'm not sure if I should be scared or impressed."

"You and me both," Stiles said, shaking his head.

"All right Stiles, try again. Scott, place your hand on Stiles shoulder please."

Both teen's raised their eyebrows at the request, but did so. Stiles had a little harder time concentrating on calling up his magic, but he managed, feeling the same dimmed effect that he had with Isaac. Only this time, it was a little…thicker, Stiles supposed as he imagined a small burst of air aimed at the two towers.

This time, when the burst of air knocked into the towers, all of them just sort of collapsed. Some had rolled away from the force, but none had gone flying. Stiles was counting that as a win.

"Still high, but not nearly as much as before."

Stiles nodded and went about helping Scott clean up the cans, "So what's the theory doc?"

Deaton frowned down at the paper in his hand, then at the two boys, "I'm still formulating it. I want to do a bit more research first. I will let you know later."

Stiles sighed, "Right, of course."

TBC…


	15. Chapter 14

See chapter one for disclaimer and summary

A/N: Another chapter for you all! Yay! Not beta'd so any and all mistakes are mine. I hope I caught the vast majority of them, but you never know.

Also, we are now half-way through this story! Woo! I thought you all might want to know how I picture Quin. Look up Cameron boyce - he's the kid that plays Luke on the Disney show Jessie. I was marathoning it on Netflix and kept thinking how much he looked like Dylan/Stiles and thought he'd make an awesome Quin.

* * *

When Stiles got home later, he found his dad in the dining room, going over some paperwork. He wanted so desperately to go in there and talk to him about Deaton had said about Quinton but decided to let it rest for now. Not much would change for the next year and a half anyway, not with Stiles still in school with over another year to go. Instead, he took a few healthy swigs from the milk cartoon before waving at his dad and telling him he would be in his room watching a movie if he needed anything.

The sheriff waved a distracted hand at him and Stiles grabbed a few cans of pepsi , a bag of chips, some dip, and half a bag of caramel Bugles before meandering his way up the stairs. He dropped his stash on the bed and went off to use the bathroom before peaking in at Quinton. The boy was fast asleep, tucked away under the guest room comforter with his baby blanket clutched in his chubby little fist. The sight made Stiles smile and, after a glance down the hall, he gave in to the instincts that had been crawling through him for the better part of two weeks and snuck inside.

He leaned over the bed and pressed a soft kiss to Quinton's temple before whispering, "Night Q-bean, I love you."

Quinton let out a soft, contented sounding huff before snuggling deeper into the bed. Stiles smile grew a bit larger and he reached out to straighten the comforter before slipping back out of the room. He closed the door down to a small crack and went back to his room.

However, when he stepped back into his room and shut the door, he stopped dead in his tracks when he turned around. Something was off, different. He looked around cautiously, eying the window first then his bed. When nothing out of the ordinary popped out he made to look at his desk, but his eyes flit over his floating shelf first and what he saw resting on the shelf made him gasp before promptly bursting into tears.

His mom's ivory bow was sitting on the shelf, its glass case gleaming in the light from the overhead. He walked over, still sniffling, and reached out to touch the case, wondering in a daze if he was just hallucinating. When his fingers pressed against the glass, he knew he wasn't.

Stiles was reaching up to take it down, to look at it more closely, when his phone rang. He bit his lip and cast one more glance at the bow before pulling out his phone. He frowned when he saw his aunt's name flashing on the screen. He swiped the screen, "Hello?"

"_Mieczyslaw_!"

Stiles nearly dropped the phone in shock, "Dziadek! You're back home. Thank God."

"_You are_ _safe? Quinton_?"

Stiles nodded quickly, "Yeah, yes, we're okay. Dziadek, did the police tell you anything?"

"_That it was Alex and that you were alive and took Quinton home. Mieczylsaw, I have only called to tell you that I am okay. This house…it is too much to live here now. No reason anymore. There is too much blood and violence. I am saying goodbye, my grandson._"

"Dziadek, no! You could always come down here. There is the guest room still…" Stiles trailed off. He thought he knew where this was going and the thought that he might lose his grandfather as well was like a knife to heart.

"_You know I cannot. There was a reason you always came to me after your mother died. It is too hard for a fairy to be in a place where kin has died, more so when the death is violent. No, I am going home to the mountains where I will live out my days. I am sorry._"

Stiles made a pained noise and clutched the phone, "But the house…all that stuff? And Quinton's things?"

"_I cannot, Stiles. You are not listening!"_

Stiles gasped at his grandfather's croaked yell and felt the tears well back up. It was never a good thing when his grandfather called him Stiles, "I do, I am. I swear, I am."

"_I will send your father the deed by courier with my signature for the transfer. I will miss you, Mieczyslaw, you and Quinton. I bless you both with long and prosperous lives, my grandchild. Be safe!_"

The phone clicked as his grandfather hung up and Stiles whispered, "I love you," before dropping the phone to the bed and racing out the door. He pounded down the stairs and into the dining room. He didn't even pause before throwing himself into his father's arms.

"Stiles?" His dad asked, as his arms automatically coming up to wrap around Stiles, pulling him down onto his lap like he hadn't done since Stiles was still little.

"Grandpa just called," Stiles whispered through his tears, "He called to say goodbye, that he was going back to the mountains for good. Everyone's leaving dad," He ended on a whimper and buried his face into John's neck. He knew he wasn't acting like the eighteen year old he was, but things had just gone so wrong in less than a week. He wasn't sure he could take much more.

"Shh," John said, patting Stiles hair, "I'm sure he doesn't mean forever. No matter that he doesn't call, they do have phones in the places he goes. He's upset and you can't blame him. You'll see him again, I'm sure of it."

Stiles sniffed and pulled away, wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt, "I hope you're right, dad. I really do."

"Of course I am. Just remember that he's not dead and that he loves you and Quinton too much to stay away forever. Now get off my lap. You're far too big for this for too long," John said with a huff and a small shove.

Stiles laughed wetly before sliding off and onto the seat next to him, "Grandpa also said that he couldn't go back to the house. He won't be sending anything down except for the deed, which he signed to transfer the house to you."

John sighed and leaned back in his chair, "Great. Okay, I'll have to take a look at my schedule, but we might be able to go up at the end of the week. Friday after work, if you drive. I'll rent a small U-Haul as well. Look up some realtors for me tomorrow when you get a chance. Might as well get that ball rolling as soon as we can. Professional cleaners as well."

Stiles sniffled and gave his dad a short nod, "Will do."

Stiles climbed the stairs and walked back into his room before closing the door and pressing his back against the wall. He slid down and pulled his knees pulled up to his chest as he stared at his mom's bow.

He just…he didn't know what to make of it. He could kind of figure why the bow was here, no point in it staying in a house that was going to be sold, but why him? Why not to his dad like it had been until it went to Aunt Mer?

Cocking his head, he stood up and walked over to the case. He bit his lip and reached out to touch the glass, frowning when his fingers weren't repelled like Aunt Mer's had been, "Huh," He muttered, before getting a grip on the glass and lifting it up.

The glass enclosure separated from the base and Stiles set the glass on his bed carefully. He then reached for the bow. To his amazement he was allowed to touch it, pick it up. While it warmed up in his hand like it recognized him and was saying hello, there was nothing else. Stiles had the slightest feeling that he would be able to use the bow, but for him, it would just be a regular bow. Not particularly useful since he couldn't use one to save his life. Allison had tried to show him once, but it had been a mistake. A horrible, never to be spoken of again mistake.

Stiles gave the bow a smile that was bittersweet, "Hi mom," He whispered, wondering if the magic he felt was remnant of hers or from the bow itself. He supposed in this instance a little bit of pretend wouldn't hurt. The bow flared with warmth for a moment before returning to normal. Maybe not so pretend after all.

* * *

Stiles pushed the door open to the guest room –really Quinton's room now- and tiptoed in, smiling at the adorableness that was his cousin (son? Stiles didn't even know anymore) as Quinton slept in a star shaped sprawl with one foot on his pillow and his head hanging over the side of the bed. "Quinton," He whispered in a sing-song voice, "Time to get up."

Quinton groaned and rolled over, fist flying out to smack whomever dared interrupt his sleep. Stiles caught the small fist with a laugh, "Come on Q-bean. Places to go, people to see."

And wasn't that the truth. Stiles needed to go grocery shopping something fierce, a stop at the dry cleaners wouldn't go amiss as his dad was probably running low on clean uniforms, and he had to stop at the elementary school to get the enrollment paperwork for his dad to fill out. And still, Stiles felt like he was forgetting something.

Quinton grumbled but opened his eyes, blinking up at Stiles through a sleepy scowl, "Wha?"

Stiles smiled and pressed a kiss to the wrinkled forehead, "Come on little man, up and at 'em. Got a bowl of cereal downstairs with your name on it."

"Dun' want cereal," Quinton whined, pushing up into Stiles chest to the point where the teen had no choice but to pick him up.

"Sadly, it's all we have at the moment. We finished off the bread at dinner, so no toast. Also, no eggs…or cheese. The fridge is pretty empty."

Quinton grunted as Stiles hoisted him up to carry down to the bathroom. He set the five year old on his feet and gave him a little push, "In you go. I'll see you downstairs."

"Bah," Quinton grumbled, shutting the door on Stiles.

Stiles shook his head and went back down to the kitchen, pouring what was left of the milk into Quinton's bowl. He hadn't been kidding about the lack of food and wasn't quite sure how his dad managed to live when he wasn't here. Stiles heated up what little dinner leftovers there was for his own breakfast and tucked in, watching as Quinton clomped down the stairs, bare feet slapping against the wood floor in defiance of being awake at some ungodly hour…despite that it was nine-thirty and well past when he would be have been up for school.

Quinton grumbled his way through breakfast and getting dressed, only really perking up once they were heading out of the house, "We're takin' your car?" he asked, his eyes lit up as he stared at the blue jeep parked in the garage.

"Yeah. Derek dropped off your seat this morning," Stiles said, opening the passenger door and pushing forward the seat, "Up you get."

Quinton scrambled up into the jeep and Stiles awkwardly maneuvered himself around the side of the jeep to buckle him in. He wasn't sure why, but this had seemed so much easier in the Camaro.

The trek to the grocery store wasn't that long, Stiles preferring the smaller, privately owned store near their house compared to the two chain stores and Wal-Mart closer to the center of town. The food just seemed fresher to him…at least for the meat and produce it did. Shopping itself was pretty straightforward. Stiles had long ago memorized the layout of the store and where everything was located to best plan his lists. The way he figured it, he could be in and out in twenty minutes if the store wasn't busy.

That plan, however, was derailed in the cereal aisle when his phone rang, the ringtone programed for Scott blaring out from the pocket of his hoodie. Stiles frowned and dug it out, answering it with a swipe of his thumb as he dropped a box of Cheerios into the cart, "Shouldn't you be in Spanish right now?"

"_Stiles, are you at home?_"

"Noooo?" Stiles dragged the word out, a little bemused that Scott had just up and ignored his question, "I had some errands to run this morning. Why?"

"_Where are you right now?_"

"Fresh Market. Seriously, dude, answer my question."

"_You need to get to Derek, now. The rest of us will be there soon._"

"Scott!" Stiles exclaimed, as he started towards the front of the store and the check outs, "What the fu-udge is going on?! And I don't even know where Derek is! He won't tell me."

"_I don't know what's up yet either. Lydia went to go check on something but she wouldn't say anything. She just told me to call you and get you to Derek."_

"Christ. Okay, I'll call him as soon as I get off the phone with you, find out where he's at."

Stiles heard Scott huff softly, "_Don't bother. He's at that old store front next door to the diner._"

Stiles paused in putting the groceries on the belt, "How do you know?" before cursing under his breath when he saw a pile of candy bars mysteriously, or maybe not so mysteriously, appear on the belt in front of the milk. "Hang on Scott," He muttered, before pressing the phone to his shoulder, "You're not as sneaky as you think you are, Q," Stiles said, grabbing the pile, "I was going to get you something but now, not so much."

"Aww, Stiles," Quinton whined, "Please?"

"Uhm, no, and don't pull those eyes on me," Stiles said, before bringing the phone back up, only to see that Scott had hung up on him. Stiles rolled his eyes and shoved the phone back into his pocket, "Well, that was nice of him," Stiles said, putting the candy back on the shelf.

His turn went quick, he had only gotten about half of the groceries they really needed, and paid while a stock girl bagged him up. They were out the door in minutes and Stiles shoved the food into the back with Quinton and prayed that Derek had somewhere cool that he could store it all otherwise it would go bad before he got it home.

The dinner was only six blocks away from the grocery store, thankfully, making for a really short drive. He had just pulled in to an empty parking space when his phone rang. He dug it out and saw Derek's number this time. Making a face, he swiped his thumb across the screen, "Okay, seriously, this is getting annoying."

"_Park in the diner's lot and go in. Beatrice will meet you in there."_

"Ugh, fine," Stiles grumbled, apparently to himself when he was met with dead air. Seriously, what was with everyone and hanging up on him today? Also, it looked like some of his shopping was going to be for nothing. He was totally going to make Derek replace anything that went bad.

He found a spot in the lot and hiked Quinton up onto his hip as he went inside. Stiles was starting to feel uneasy about all this secrecy and didn't want to let the small boy out of arm's reach, his protective instincts for Quinton soaring.

He found Beatrice behind the counter and she urged her head towards the kitchen, following him back there. When the door swooshed shut, she ushered him towards another door, "Upstairs now, come on child, move," She said, her tone of voice urgent.

Stiles looked over his shoulder with a frown, "Do you know what's going on?"

The elder lady shook her head, "I do not. I didn't ask. This door here," She said, pulling a ring of keys out of her pocket, "Derek is on the other side."

Quinton whimpered and stuck his face into Stiles neck, "What's going on?"

Stiles pressed a kiss to Quinton's head, "Don't know yet buddy. Just hand on."

"Ah!" Beatrice exclaimed quietly as the lock finally turned, "In you go."

Stiles stepped through the doorway and found himself standing in darkness as Beatrice shut and locked the door behind him, "You've got to be kidding me," Stiles muttered before sighing, "Derek?" He called out, not willing to move as he wasn't sure what obstacles were in the room.

"Right here," A flashlight clicked on a short distance away and Stiles saw Derek standing in a door frame, "Sorry, power is out right now. I was working on some wiring downstairs."

Derek crossed the room and pulled Stiles into a hug, one tight enough to have Quinton squirming. He pressed his face into the side of Stiles neck opposite Quinton and breathed deeply for a moment before stepping back, "Are you okay?" He then turned to snuffle at Quinton's neck for a moment, smiling when the five year old giggled softly.

Stiles frowned at him, "Really? You're asking me that? I don't even know what's going on! I was shopping Derek. There are dairy and meat items in my jeep right now. If they go bad, not only are you replacing them but you are paying to have my car cleaned because that mess is going to reek."

"Won't be any worse than your lacrosse gear," Derek said, pressing a hand to the small of Stiles back and guiding him out of the room, "You lug that stuff around for weeks without washing it."

"I do not," Stiles huffed, "I wash my clothes in a timely manner, including my lacrosse uniforms."

"Watch the stairs. They are stripped down to the plywood right now," Derek said when they walked through yet another door and onto a rather large landing...or perhaps loft would be a better word. He plucked Quinton out of Stiles arms as he motioned to the open staircase that ran along the far wall, "And we'll find out soon enough. I don't know either. Just that Lydia ran off to check on something and it would be better if you were here."

Now that they were in an open area that was lit up with sunshine and a few scattered lamps running off of a generator, Stiles finally got the chance to look around, "What kind of work do you do _here_, exactly?"

The store front they were in had closed just after the fire and Stiles couldn't even remember what had been sold. He thought it had been a hardware store, but he wasn't entirely sure. That time had been too fraught emotionally to try and remember those kinds of details.

Derek shook his head as they climbed down the stairs, Quinton held secure in Derek's arms. Stiles was kind of glad that Derek had had the foresight to take him when they reached the bottom and Stiles foot caught on an extension cord. Derek caught his arm and pulled him up before he could make acquaintance with the showing subfloor.

"I'm starting something back up that my parents did," Derek said, running his free hand through his hair as he looked around the room. If Stiles didn't know better, he'd say Derek was sheepish, "They, uh…well, not all of the members of my mom's pack were…educated, I guess is the P.C. term. It wasn't a requirement of the pack or anything to work, but most didn't want to hang around watching the kids and there were some that wanted to live on their own but couldn't afford to. So…mom and dad started small businesses that employed those pack members."

Stiles blinked at him, "Your mom and dad were the werewolf equivalent of Goodwill."

"What?"

"Goodwill. You know, that secondhand store at the edge of town that Scott likes to go to because of his board game addiction?"

Derek frowned, his eyebrows creeping together, "What about it?" He stressed, not seeing the connection.

Stiles huffed, "Goodwill trains and hires people who don't generally make it in a normal work force. People with mental disabilities like Down syndrome, veterans, the physically handicapped…basically anyone who is _capable_ but can't. That's why it's not a consignment store like most second hand re-sale shops."

"Oh," Derek said, "Yeah, I guess they were then."

"Hmm," Stiles sat on a stool and cocked his head, "It's interesting, and really cool, but I don't fully understand. Are you planning on growing the pack? Because all of your wolves are educated."

Derek shook his head, "No, but…" He shrugged, "The pack still has a year of school left and Scott is the only one with a job. Not many employers would understand the need to have the full moon off. It's an option for them to earn some of their own money."

Stiles grinned, "That is awesome! So, what is this place going to be then?"

For the second time since their meeting, Stiles watched as a blush creeped up Derek's neck. It was so _cute_. Seriously, Stiles wanted to die at the cuteness of it, "A new and used bookstore. I was thinking of adding a café at first, a small one that serves coffee and pastries but I've been wondering about maybe just having a service window to the diner to help out Beatrice."

"Mm," Stiles looked around again, "Actually, a café might be a better idea. You'll help the diner out just by opening really and to be honest? The diner had coffee choices of regular and decaf. Not to mention most people who eat at bookstore cafes want small finger foods like pastries, which, no offence to Beatrice, but the diner only has pie. Not exactly something you want around books. Do you have blueprints?"

Derek shrugged and motioned to the table behind Stiles, "There. Just general layout stuff. I can get a pretty good idea of size as I'm going so there's not much for dimensions." Derek looked down as Quinton tugged on his color, "Yes?"

"You gunna have a kids spot?"

Derek pretended to look thoughtful, "You think I should?"

"Yes!" Quinton exclaimed, "With little chairs and stuff like at the lib'ary."

"Hmm," Derek mused, "Where should the kids area be?"

Quinton squirmed and Derek set him on his feet. Quinton reached back and grabbed Derek's hand before pulling him towards the back of the store, "Here, under the stairs."

"You know," Derek said, looking over his shoulder and casting Stiles a wink, "This is a great spot for the kid's area. I think we can do this."

Stiles glanced at the plans and had to smother a laugh as Quinton cheered, excited he had 'input' on the store layout. That was the area already planned out for the kids. A quick glance over the main floor showed a typical book store layout with fiction and non-fiction separated to each side of the store and help books in the back near the kids area. Derek also had multiple sheets on what to do with the loft, one of them the mentioned café, another as a comics and graphic novel sections, and a third as a music section.

"What do you think?" Derek asked.

Stiles turned and held out the café plan, "This one for the loft. You have all those rooms upstairs and unless you're planning on turning it into an apartment, you could cobble up a pretty decent industrial kitchen that's up to code. I think a graphic novel section is a great idea, especially since the comic book store doesn't carry them, at least not manga's, and the nearest Barnes and Noble is in Chico. No one wants to drive an hour to get them."

Derek raised an eyebrow and pointed to the plan of the main floor, "Okay genius, where should they go?"

Stiles ran an eye over the labels Derek had written down, "I think it would be a good segue from non-fiction to the kids section. Move the magazines to the front of the store near the door instead of at the back. Maybe have the self-help portion of the books near the staircase with the cook books placed so people have to walk past them to get to and from the café," Stiles squinted, "What were you planning on putting in this corner up in the front by the registers?"

"I don't know yet. Maybe a gift wrapping area."

Stiles tapped at the table, his mind whirring. It was kind of fun, talking this out and helping Derek. He was a little upset he hadn't been included in this initially, but he could understand Derek wanting to get it further along before telling anyone…or him anyway, since Scott apparently knew. But then, Scott was Derek's second. It was kind of prudent for him to know where his Alpha would be if he was spending a majority of his time there.

"Mind another idea?"

"I'm all ears," Derek droned, reaching for a pencil.

Quinton, who was sitting on Derek's shoulders and draped over his head in boredom, sat up and grabbed Derek's hair before turning his head left and right, "No you're not. He's not Stiles. There are only two ears."

Stiles laughed at that and the look of utter bewilderment on Derek's face as his head was manipulated, "It's just an expression, buddy. It means he's listening to me."

"That's funny. Why didn't he just say that?" Quinton asked, "Grown-ups are weird."

"We really are," Stiles agreed, before motioning again to the corner of the paper, "How about notebooks, journals, and sketchbooks up here, maybe a small selection of art supplies? I think there would be a lot of appreciative people if they could get decorative notebooks instead of the bulk plain ones at Walmart or Shopko."

Derek, who had been nodding along thoughtfully, raised an eyebrow, "And the art supplies? Because that one sounds self-serving."

Stiles shrugged, not at all ashamed, "Totally self-serving. I hate driving an hour to Chico just for a handful of pencils or charcoal and yeah, I have most of my stuff delivered, but if I run out of something before it comes in, I'm kinda screwed."

Derek let out a small laugh before leaning in and pressing his lips to Stiles. Stiles was beyond confused, because how did that lead to a kiss, but hell, who was he to complain? He leaned in and returned it happily, his hands going up to grip Derek's shirt at his shoulders. He bit back a whine as Derek pulled away, "What…?"

Derek nuzzled at his temple, "Tell you what, you want that section? It's yours. And I mean that literally. I was planning on hiring you in as a manager anyway, so what the hell."

"Uhm," Stiles leaned back, "Nepotism much? I'm totally not complaining, I could use a job, but uh…I don't think a member or three of the pack would be too happy with me as a manager. Especially since I don't have much, or okay any, retail experience."

"Erica will be one as well. She has a good head for business and more time than the rest of the pack since she is not in any extra-curricular's. Besides, you'll be fine. We won't be opening for a while yet and I'll pay for you two to take a class this summer to help."

"Ugh, way to bring back the fact that I have to quit lacrosse. Totally not cool."

Derek didn't get a chance to respond as a thundering overhead alerted them to the arrival of at least some of the pack. Staring up at the ceiling, Stiles had to wonder how any of them were werewolves. They sounded like a pack of trampling elephants.

As Scott, Isaac, and Jackson tumbled down the stairs and Lydia glided down behind them, Stiles stood up and crossed his arms. Not impressive, not really, but it was enough to make at least Scott and Isaac shrink on themselves a little, "Okay, can someone explain please?"

Lydia frowned and placed her hands on her hips, obviously not impressed with Stiles display of dominance focused on them, "I got a call from Danny. He thought he saw Alex when he was leaving school for his computer class at the community college."

TBC…


	16. Chapter 15

See Chapter one for summary and Disclaimer

A/N: So…my apologies for how late this is. I just plain ol' don't have an excuse. This chapters been almost done for nearly a month except for the last quarter, and I tell ya, I had a hell of a time writing that quarter. Either way, here it finally is. Thanks to GuardianWolfman for the quick read through!

* * *

Stiles dropped back down onto the stool, his arms falling limply to his lap. That was not what he was expecting to hear at all. How did Alex even find them and what the hell did he want?! He had, intellectually, understood what Lydia had said at the meeting on Sunday about children being easy to manipulate but what were the chances that Alex even knew Quinton existed? That meant that the more realistic theory was that Alex was here for him and Derek…though how he tracked them down was yet another mystery to be solved.

A warm hand wrapped around his neck as Quinton was dropped onto his lap. Stiles pulled the boy in and snuggled him, glad to have something to concentrate on as Derek asked, "Can we confirm this?"

Lydia shook her head, "No. I looked around but didn't see anyone suspicious hanging around the school."

Derek frowned, "It's possible Danny was mistaken but not likely so we are just going to work under the assumption that Alex snuck away before you got outside. That means Stiles and Quinton are now under watch at all times. Scott, call the sheriff and get him up to date. Let him know that Stiles and Quinton will be with us for the rest of the day," He glanced at the group, "Where are Erica and Boyd?"

Scott shrugged, "Erica had a test in English she couldn't miss so Boyd stayed behind to give her a lift later. They'll be at the house right after school."

"Okay. We're going to start working on training Stiles today. Everyone, head back to the house. Scott, take the jeep. Stiles is going to ride with me."

Stiles made a noise of protest, "The groceries and Quinton's seat?"

"Stiles, it's fifty-five degrees out and you've only been here an hour. The groceries are fine. We'll store them in the fridge at the house. As for Quinton's seat, I bought a new one to keep in the Camaro so we don't have to keep switching the other one out. It's fine," Derek said with a squeeze of his hand.

The beta's and Lydia acknowledged Derek's words with quiet murmurs of agreement before trooping out, Scott pulling out his phone to call Stiles' dad. Stiles watched them go before turning and raising an eyebrow at Derek, "Training? I hate to tell you, but nothing about how I am able to use my magic has changed. Currently, there is nothing to train."

"Think again," Derek said, reaching behind Stiles and grabbing his jacket, "You've got a set of blades in the back of my trunk that are going to get a pretty vigorous workout."

"Oh, yay," Stiles said, only a little bit sarcastic.

* * *

"The groceries will be fine," Stiles muttered, his voice pitched to mimic Derek's, "It's fifty-five degree's out," He sighed as he tossed the tied off bag of meat into the trash, "What a waste."

Derek sighed as well, "I'll replace it. I didn't think your jeep was that much of a heat sink. Why didn't you park in the shade?"

Stiles raised an eyebrow as he turned around, "Oh, I dunno. Because the spot I found was the only one open?"

Derek shook his head, "You drive me nuts."

"Feeling is entirely mutual bucko," Stiles said, unable to hold back a grin. He crossed the kitchen and wrapped his arms around the Alpha, amazed that he could do this now whenever he wanted to. He pressed a kiss to the corner of Derek's mouth, "Sorry for being snippy."

"It's okay, I understand," Derek said, returning the kiss with another deeper one.

Stiles was getting into it, humming happily into Derek's mouth, when a voice whined from the doorway, "Oh come on. Why is it always me?"

Stiles pulled away and frowned over his shoulder, "I'm sorry? Who had to deal with all of your mooning and oversharing while you were dating Allison? Who will probably have to do so again when you get your head out of your ass and finally do something about your feelings for Isaac?"

Scott spluttered, "What? Isaac? Pssh, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh my God," Stiles rolled his eyes and dropped his forehead onto Derek's shoulder, "Scott, are you kidding me?"

"No?"

Stiles shook his head and pulled away from Derek completely, "Try that with a little more conviction next time. What do you want anyway?"

Scott motioned at Derek, who was heading into the mudroom, "We're going out to do a perimeter check."

"Right," Stiles said, drawing the word out. He vaguely recalled Derek mentioning doing so on the ride back to the house, but Stiles had been a little bit caught up in his own panic over this whole thing with Alex and had been just letting Derek's voice wash over him, rather than listening to the actual words. Really, the only thing he actually took away from the ride was that they were going to wait for Erica and Boyd before starting to work with Stiles and his blades. And really, he only remembered that because the thought of going up against Erica was –to put it rather bluntly- terrifying as shit.

"Scott, let's go," Derek said from the doorway, jacket in hand. He turned to Stiles, "We'll be back in a couple of hours and both of us have our cell phones. Call if anything happens."

"Will do," Stiles said with a nod, watching as his best friend and his boyfriend took off through the mudroom and ran off to the woods. "Awesome," He muttered with a sigh, completely at a loss as to what to do now that he had some free time on his hands.

Isaac and Quinton were in the family room, half asleep as they watched _Finding Nemo _again for what felt like the hundredth time that week alone. Stiles liked the movie, but at this point it would more than likely knock him out for a while due to sheer boredom and he wasn't really in the mood to sleep. The only other people in the house were Lydia and Jackson. Lydia was likely squirreled away in the library, looking up more things about Kelpies. Stiles didn't know where Jackson was, nor did he particularly care.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, wondering if it was worth it to even bother working on his magic in some way. Stiles knew that physically was possible, especially if his idea on Deaton's theory was correct. Which, actually, kind of pissed him off a little bit because it meant a choice was being taken out of his hands if he wanted to use his magic properly and he really didn't like that. Cocking his head in thought, Stiles made his way to the library and the books that he had gotten from Deaton, a couple of bottles of water in hand.

Stiles had left the books with Derek earlier that morning, feeling safer to have them in the hands of the alpha werewolf than leaving them in the house unattended. Deaton had pulled the books out of a key _and_ spell locked cabinet. In Stiles opinion, it was far better to be safe than sorry when it came to those books. He had also added to the bag his books on fairy spells and lore that he had gotten from his aunt, which was a good thing because he had a feeling he was going to be doing some pretty heavy cross referencing between the two sets.

He had been right about Lydia being in the library and placed one of the bottles of water off just to the side of the book she was engrossed in. She didn't even look up or acknowledge him in anyway. It didn't surprise him, not anymore, knowing that she was so far gone in the reading that everything else disappeared for her. This kind of ignoring he could handle. It was better than before when he just plain ol' didn't exist to her.

Stiles grabbed his backpack from the end table Derek had set it on when they had arrived earlier and went to his favorite spot in the library. It was a reading nook that was built in to the corner that had bay windows looking out into the front and side yard and an awesome window seat that ran both walls. There were built in nooks in the sides of the bookshelves surrounding it and a table like shelf that was at elbow height while sitting that was perfect for drinks, food, and books. The thing that Stiles loved the most was the pull out desk that sat underneath the shelf and had a drop down leg for additional support.

Stiles hadn't thought about it much since the house was finished –despite that he used it so often that it had become his corner and his alone- but it was actually pretty similar to the reading nook that he had described to Derek on a whim when they had first started being civil with each other. Now though, Stiles stood in front of it and stared, taking in the nooks and drawers that would be perfect for his art supplies and the pull out desk with the drop down leg support that also lifted on a hinge, which made it perfect for close up studying, tablet work, and drawing.

He sucked in a breath as the bag dropped to the crook of his elbow. Holy shit, Derek had been in love with him for months. How the fuck had he been so blind?! He knew that Derek had said that it had been pretty obvious to just about everyone, but he hadn't thought it had been much longer than a month or two, not closer to six.

"Just realizing?"

Stiles started and looked over his shoulder, where Lydia was staring at him with the biggest look of pity on her face, which was coincidentally the same one she was wearing when she told him they were never ever going to be a thing beyond friends. Stiles shuddered slightly in remembrance. That had not been a particularly fun conversation. He set his bag down on the seat and gave Lydia the blankest look he could muster up, "Just realizing what?"

Lydia snorted and tucked some hair behind her ear, "Please, don't play dumb, especially not with me. You were the most oblivious person on the planet when it came to Derek and his feelings for you."

Stiles shrugged. It's not like he could disagree with her. He sat down on the seat and rubbed his face before turning and pulling books out of the bag, "I know, I get that now. Hindsight and all that jazz."

"Mm," Stiles saw her lean back in her chair and reach for her purse from the corner of his eye, "What are you working on?"

Stiles bit his lip. He wasn't entirely sure he was comfortable with too much of the pack knowing about his lack of control over his magic, Jackson was certainly one of them, but Lydia had some startling apt insights to things that even Stiles tended to overlook. If anyone could help with this shit, it would be her. He turned and gave her his full attention, "I'll tell you, to be honest I could use your help, but for now it needs to stay with us. Derek, Scott, and Isaac know, but I am not comfortable yet with the other three knowing. Not yet."

Lydia cocked her head, "Okay?"

Stiles took a deep breath, "I don't have full control of my magic. I can use it, don't misunderstand me, but it's like Niagara Falls when I use it, rather than say a sink faucet. Basically it's all or nothing. And I can't fly. At all. I had my first training session with Deaton last night and he had a theory but didn't really go into it. But I have a general gist of where he was going with it."

This time an eyebrow went up, "How did he come to this theory?"

"Yesterday afternoon, I practiced my magic for the first time since I've been home. Isaac arrived shortly after I started and I felt…a change, I guess, in how my magic felt when I used it compared to how it felt before he showed up. He told Scott at some point, who must have mentioned it to Deaton in passing. Plus, I'm sure, the demonstration I gave Deaton Sunday probably helped formulate it as well."

"And he didn't actually tell you what his theory was, did he," That was definitely not a question. Most of the pack was well versed in how cryptic Deaton could be.

"No," Stiles shook his head, "He said he wanted to research it more,"

"Of course he did," Lydia interrupted, a slight snarl in her voice. There was no love lost between her and Deaton. She rather disliked his stand offish approach to helping them, especially if he knew right off the bat what was going on.

Stiles sent her a weak glare at the interruption, before continuing, "But, I'm not exactly stupid and I _can_ be fairly observant when things are obvious," Lydia let out a dainty snort of derision that deepened Stiles glare, "so I pretty much know his theory."

"Yes, it is rather obvious, even from what you just mentioned which was probably the bare minimum. You are a half fairy, half human hybrid that spent the first eighteen years of your life as human and the last six months of that attached to a were pack."

Stiles nodded, "I did notice that I had become a bit more clumsy in the last year. I have a feeling that my magic had, well, started preparing itself around that time."

Lydia nodded thoughtfully, "If your magic was coming out of its dormant state, it is certainly likely that it grew and coalesced around the pack bond you had with Derek and, coincidentally, the rest of the pack. But since you are a fairy, a magical creature that holds familial bonds sacred, when the heritage emerged fully…"

"It snapped my bond with the pack. I think that when it snapped, my ability to control the magic went with it," Stiles finished with a nod.

"So what you need is some sort of supernatural connection to the pack again. Either through a pack bond or some other means. Why don't you just re-join the pack?"

Stiles bit his lip, "It's…not as easy as one would think. Yes, it is on me and my magic to join a were pack, but uh…I need full and complete acceptance from all pack members in order for the bond to take. I can think of two weres in particular where the acceptance will _not_ come from."

"I would have thought that just the Alpha's acceptance would be needed," Lydia said, her eyebrows scrunching together thoughtfully.

"That would make life easier, wouldn't it? But think about it. Fairies hold families in high regard. Wouldn't it make sense that their magic was attuned to that way of thinking? If there isn't complete acceptance from all, that feeling of _family_ isn't there, so the magic wouldn't take."

"That does make sense," Lydia said, her eyes narrowing, "I'm going to assume you've been thinking about this since you found out?"

Stiles shook his head, "Not in the way you're thinking. Until Deaton put the idea in my head, I didn't think about the bonds like that. I had read a few passages in one of the books my aunt assigned me for reading and mentioned to Scott that I wasn't even sure I wanted a pack bond again, even though I didn't tell him that I _couldn't._ Mostly it was just a few idle thoughts on re-starting the allegiance spell that had been tying my family to Derek's for generations. _Now_ I'm just wondering if that would be enough."

"So what is it that you need my help with?"

"Well…back up plans mainly. In case the allegiance spell isn't enough, you know?" Stiles shrugged, "In that respect, I wouldn't even know where to start."

Lydia nodded her head, a thoughtful look on her face, "A list of the different types of bonds would be a good place. You start on the allegiance spell. I'll start the list."

Stiles sighed, "Thank you."

* * *

Around noon, Stiles took a break from researching the allegiance spell to help Derek make lunch for the pack members that were at the house. He hadn't gotten very far, a scary thought with the full moon Thursday. What he had found so far, however, was telling him that he was going to need Deaton's help for some of it, because of the way his magic was acting and the requirements of the start of the spell. The final part was on him, for that he had no choice, but he didn't like his chances of getting the entirety correct.

When he mentioned the allegiance spell to Derek, he received a frown in return. Stiles felt the corners of his own mouth tilt down, "What?"

Derek gave the macaroni he was cooking a stir, staring into the pot like it held all of life's answers, "Do you think it will be enough?"

Stiles leaned against the oven, which he was waiting on to pre-heat, and crossed his arms, "I don't know. The full moon is in two days. It just doesn't give me enough time to do anything else, especially when I'm not sure what that anything else is."

Derek looked up at him, his eyebrows bunched together, "What about bonding with the pack again?"

Stiles shook his head and grabbed the two cookie sheets sitting on the counter when the oven dinged, "Definitely not enough time for that. Not only does that one require the new moon, it also requires full acceptance from the entire pack."

"Ah," Derek grunted. That was certainly explanation enough for Derek, who knew more than anyone Stiles troubles with Jackson and Erica, "And if it doesn't work?"

Stiles shrugged as he slid the pans into the oven, "I asked Lydia to research some alternatives while I'm learning the allegiance spell."

"Good. She'll find something. I will also start talking to Erica and Jackson. They need to get their egos in check as it is."

Stiles pursed his lips, "Good luck with that one. Jackson is never going to like me Derek. I am not entirely certain even you could convince him to accept me back into the pack willingly."

Derek turned off the burner and moved the pot to one of the back burners before turning and grabbing Stiles by the hips, "You seem to underestimate my powers of persuasion."

Stiles stared at Derek for a moment, eyes wide and mouth open, before he started snickering, "I really hope that wasn't a line, because let me tell you, it didn't work."

"That was _not_ a line," Derek scowled at him, before he let go of the frown and chuckled along with Stiles, "That really didn't come out how I intended anyway. I just meant that I can put things in perspective for him."

Stiles rolled his eyes and stole a kiss before slipping away from Derek's hands to check the crescent roll wrapped hotdogs in the oven. He loved the rolls but man, did he hate cooking them. He had to keep a close eye to make sure they didn't burn which just annoyed him, "Dump the macaroni and add the cheese. These only have a couple more minutes."

After lunch, Stiles was back in the library with Lydia, except this time he had a cling on in the form of Quinton who had decided he didn't want to sleep in the guest room for his nap. Derek had offered up his bed, knowing that the wolf smell helped the small boy with his nightmares, but Quinton had, after some considerable dithering because apparently the idea of sleeping in Derek's bed was just that cool, decided that Stiles stomach and chest was that days nap pad.

Not that Stiles minded, really. Having Quinton that close helped tamp down on the constant worry that had been eating away at him since…well, since the first time he had seen Derek in the woods and that had only gotten worse with his aunt's death. The only bit that Stiles minded, and truthfully it was a small bit, was that Quinton was snuggly and warm. Which yes, a good thing, but the coziness and the rhythmic rise and fall of the small chest on his was making _him_ tired.

He looked at the book he was holding before sighing and sliding in a string to mark his place. He set on the ledge next to him and slid down to rest his head on the pillow behind him. Five minutes wouldn't hurt.

TBC….


	17. Chapter 16

See Chapter one for summary and Disclaimer

A/N: OMG! FINALLY, A NEW CHAPTER!...haha, seriously though, I so haven't forgotten about this fic. Can you believe it's been over a year since I started this? Where the heck does time go? My apologies for the lateness, work picked up like wow, especially since most of the stores we supply are very…tourist based? So summer is huge. And since I generally do my writing during my down time at work, well, I'm sure you see where this is going. Maybe it won't be such a long wait until the next chapter…one (meaning me) can hope.

Onwards and enjoy! (also not beta'd, so feel free to point out any mistakes.)

Oh my gosh, I just realized that I never got around to fixing Stiles age on here. I did it over on ao3, but totally forgot about this one. So, before I get any reviews yelling at me for screwing up his age, Stiles is _supposed_ to be eighteen. My bad. I'll get to it eventually, when I have my flash drives nearer to hand than I do currently.

* * *

Stiles rubbed his hands along his hips, switching the dual bladed dagger from one hand to the other, trying to keep his hands dry. He was as nervous as fuck and was not at all afraid to admit it. He had watched Erica train and grow into her werewolf superpowers and was under no illusion about what she was and was not capable of. Stiles glanced down at the dagger he held in front of him, the blades curving in and around his waist like a sick parody of a hula hoop. He gulped and glanced at Derek, who raised an eyebrow.

"How does the stance feel?"

Stiles bit his lip, "Stance is fine, easy enough to fall into. However, I am going to cut the fuck out of myself," he wobbled the dagger in emphasis.

Derek sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose, "Those are tied to you and your magic…"

"Which I don't even have control over yet!" Stiles interrupted, his voice inching up an octave.

"Just…you've been doing magic for weeks now and these daggers are far older than you. Trust them and yourself while you're at it," Derek said, before turning to the group of Beta's standing off to the side. He eyed them for a moment, "Scott, Boyd, the two of you are the better fighters. Watch Stiles, see what needs improving."

When Derek turned his attention to Erica, Stiles closed his eyes and took a deep breath before letting it out slowly. In the process of pushing the air out, he felt for his magic and the woven connection with the blades. He felt the energy of the dagger, so different from his own but at the same time similar, snap and crackle like it knew it was about to be used. He let the magic from the dagger flow into him and opened his eyes. It was now or never.

His gaze met Erica's, who was looking at him thoughtfully, before she smirked and wolfed out with a crack of her neck. With no warning, she pounced. Since Stiles didn't know how to infuse spells into the blades just yet, he gripped the handle with both hands and turned the dagger so that one of the blades would block. Erica dodged and landed in a crouch, her leg swinging out to get him behind the knees.

Stiles wasn't sure if he was predicting her moves, it's not like it was the first time he had seen her fight after all, or if the dagger was, but he stepped back and swung the far sided blade down and then up like he would with a golf club. This time, the blade connected with Erica's leg with enough force to spin her on her foot.

The move did not take her down and she recovered from the spin smoothly, crouched down and grinning up at him with her claws clenching into the dirt. It was at this point that Stiles began to realize something quite horrible about the blades as he tried to take an offensive swing at Erica. The blades wouldn't let him. Where only a few seconds ago they flowed like they were made of air and wind, now they seemed as heavy as a rock and wouldn't let him do anything.

"Attack her Stiles!" Scott called out from his position on the sidelines.

"I can't, the damn thing won't let me!" Stiles growled back.

"Wait. Erica, relax for a minute," Derek said as he walked to where Stiles was standing, "What are you talking about?"

Stiles let out a frustrated huff of air and pushed his hair off his forehead in the process, "I mean that they work great as a defense weapon, fantastic even, but I tried to bring them up to go after Erica and it felt like they turned to stone." Stiles rubbed his jaw as he thought about what had just happened, "Makes sense, really. I mean, right now I can't do _anything _to the blades but use them. If the blades had let me go through with that move, there's a pretty good chance I would have sliced my leg open."

Derek stared down at the blades, his eyes unfocused and moving slightly, like he was visualizing the short fight that had just occurred. After a moment he gave a sharp nod, "You're right. Grab the other blade. We'll work on getting you comfortable with offensive attacks before we even think about you trying to use both at the same time. I think this time I'll have you go up against Boyd. He's better at swinging from offensive to defensive."

This, this Stiles knew he could at least do somewhat. He used the scythe-like blade close to how he handled his baseball bat with a few guiding hints from his entwined magic and was able to get at least a few good hits off of Boyd. What he didn't figure on was the backseat fighter that suddenly emerged from Scott, whom distracted Stiles enough that Boyd managed to clip him across the shoulders and send him flying.

Stiles clenched his fingers around the handle of the dagger as he pushed himself up to his knees, a scowl settling on his face, "Scott! Don't do shit like that man."

Scott, at least, had the decency to look somewhat abashed, "Sorry, but he was wide open."

"Then tell me about it after so I don't make the same mistake again. Yelling at me in the middle of a fight makes me think you're about to get killed by some big bad, especially if I'm concentrating."

Scott opened his mouth before snapping it shut again with a nod, "Right, that makes sense. Sorry."

"Go again," Derek said, handing Stiles a bottle of water before hauling the teen to his feet, "This time, Scott, hold your comments until they come to a natural stop."

By his and Boyd's third go- around, Stiles was of the opinion that he really liked fighting with the scythe dagger. There was the drawback that it was shorter than his bat, but that also meant he could get the sucker into places that the bat just didn't do any good. Case in point, he managed to knock Boyd out of the last fight by thrusting the dagger into his armpit which caused the were a considerable amount of pain – enough for Stiles to slam him across the head with the hilt of the dagger and knock him down for a few minutes. A move that, were it used on anyone else, would give Stiles or any of his pack enough time to place a killing blow should it be needed.

Stiles biggest contention was that he hadn't come out of the encounters unscathed. Boyd's throwing of him across the yard pulled something in his shoulders, he was covered in cuts from claws, and Stiles was pretty sure he had a twisted ankle as well. Derek was looking over one of the deeper cuts on his bicep when his dad's voice floated over to him from behind Lydia and Jackson, "That one looks like it might need stitches."

Stiles peeked around the two, "Dad? When did you get here?"

"Right after you started your second fight," John cleared his throat, "That looked pretty good, Stiles. Rough, but good."

Stiles snorted, his eyes drifting back to his arm when Derek pressed a little harder than necessary, "A fight against any kind of supernatural creature is always going to be rough unless you can read minds. Even more so for me because I don't have complete control over the daggers yet," He winced at another hard press of fingers and slid his arm away from Derek, ignoring the frown the Alpha gave him, "Okay, that's enough. Dad, I won't need stitches, trust me. Lydia? Erica? Would either of you be so kind as to offer your assistance?"

"With what?" Lydia asked, looking him over with skeptical eyes.

"I intend to make some healing salves, so I need some plants. In order for a couple of the plants to work properly in the salves, they need to be picked by a female."

"Well…that seems vaguely sexist," Erica muttered, crossing her arms.

Stiles shrugged and laid the scythe dagger into the case with the half-moon blade's before closing the case up and passing it over to Derek, "Different energies. When it comes to fairy magic a female's energy is…lighter…than a males so some plants and in most cases animals respond to that. Others can be picked by both and there are a very few that can only be picked by males. Most of the healing plants require lighter energy though."

Lydia gave a thoughtful nod before turning towards the house, "I will go and get some sandwich bags."

Stiles looked at Erica who gave a shrug, "Better just let Lydia help. I don't know plants from weeds," She turned to follow Lydia before glancing at Stiles over her shoulder as she went, "Good fighting."

Stiles watched her walk away, "Huh."

"I told you she'd get over it," Derek said, his voice a low rumble in Stiles ear.

"No, you just said you'd talk to her," Stiles turned to Derek, "That is a significant difference. Dad, are you staying for dinner?"

"Sure. I'll just head up to the house. Quinton okay?"

"Yeah, Isaac kept him in the family room. It's on the opposite side of the house. He didn't see anything," Stiles said, giving his dad a cautious smile.

Stiles wasn't entirely sure what was going through his dads mind in concert to Quinton. Stiles knew that Deaton was supposed to have talked to him about how fairy families tend to work, but whether he did or not, well that was up for debate because his dad had the resting face of a Michael Myers mask. He just didn't give anything away, especially so if other people were around.

* * *

Stiles ran his fingers along the supply list for the two healing salves he was planning on making. The one he needed the most, the one to speed up healing time for lacerations, was thankfully a quick salve to make despite its set time and required only a few minimal plants that they thankfully had in the area. To be honest, Stiles hadn't been entirely sure of what was what in and around the forest, knowing that the landscape and foliage was somewhat different than up in Washington.

His intention was to actually go along with Lydia to help pick the plants, but as he took a few steps towards the forest, his ankle had wobbled and she had given him a scowl worthy of Derek at his worst before having Scott all but carry him back to the house. Stiles had then sent Scott back with the ingredient list, happily ignoring his best friend's complaints about not being an errand boy.

As he was contemplating who he could call that would be willing to grab his backpack from the library, he felt a tug at his shirt and looked down to see Quinton staring up at him with his big eyes, "What's up little man?"

Quinton shrugged and climbed up onto Stiles lap, looking down at the papers spread across the dining room table as he settled in, "What you doin'?"

Stiles nuzzled his nose into Quinton's temple, loving the smell that was all little boy and tearless shampoo, "I'm going to be making some things to help with my arm and ankle."

"You hurt?" Quinton asked, squirming around slightly to look at the white cotton wrap that Derek had insisted on wrapping Stiles arm with until the salve could be made. The bleeding had gone sluggish, but the wound was still seeping and slowly turning the wrap red.

"Little bit, yeah."

Quinton gave a sharp nod, a pouty little frown on his face, "I help?"

"Duh dude!" Stiles said after a little gasp, like he was shocked Quinton even had to ask, much to the boy's amusement if the giggle he emitted was anything to go by, "You're my special helper, remember?"

Quinton nodded again, this one a little more hesitant, "What do I do?"

Stiles made a show of thinking about it, "Well, first, I need my back pack from the other room…"

Quinton's eyes lit up, "I can do that!" He slid off of Stiles lap and ran out of the dining room at full speed.

"You're good with him."

Stiles looked over his shoulder and saw his dad standing in the doorway of the butchers pantry that led to the kitchen. He gave a little shrug, "He makes it easy to be."

John shook his head and walked up to the table, taking a seat in the chair next to Stiles, "It's not just that. I mean, yeah, he is a great kid but you have this…well, I guess I'd call it an instinct with him."

Stiles narrowed his eyes and looked down at the table, "You talked to Deaton."

"I did," John sighed, "I understand, I do, but Stiles…you're only a junior in high school, no matter that you're eighteen. You have to let me help a little so people don't start to talk."

"I don't care if people talk dad, what are they going to think? That I knocked someone up when I was, what, thirteen? I wasn't _that_ much of a delinquent at that age. Besides, the people in this town know that as the sheriff, you're a very busy man. I think people would talk more if I didn't step up to help. I wouldn't want to be considered an inconsiderate son."

John squinted at Stiles for a moment before his shoulders dropped and he fell back against his chair, "All right, all right, I see your point. But!-I get him on my day's off. If I'm going to be delegated to a grandfather role, for all that the legal papers say, I am going to spoil him rotten…and let you deal with the aftermath."

Stiles snorted, "Gee, thanks."

"Just be grateful that he's not quite as active as you were at that age," John said as he stood, running his hand over Stiles head, "You'd really be thanking me then."

Stiles laughed, his attention turning back to the hall where a little butt was wiggling as Quinton struggled to drag the bag down the waxed hardwood floors. "Need help Quin?" John asked from over Stiles shoulder.

Quinton huffed out a no, before pulling the bag another two inches. There was a snort from further down the hall and Stiles tilted sideways to see Derek following after Quinton with a smirk on his face, "I've been trying to help him since I found him in the library. He's been refusing me the whole way," Derek said, nudging the bag along with his toe gently when Quinton looked over his shoulder to judge the distance he had to go yet.

Stiles winced, "I forgot about the books in there. Q, I'm sorry. If I had known how heavy my bag was…" He trailed off when the five year old glared at him.

"I can do it!" Quinton yelled, stomping his foot, "I'm not a baby!"

"I know you're not buddy," Stiles said softly, wishing he was well and able enough to crouch down on the floor by his cousin…son…the little person whose glare was by no means softening, "But even big kids and adults need to ask for help if something is too much for them."

Quinton crossed his arms over his chest and let out a little scoff, "Nuh uh, don't believe you."

"No? I had to ask for help, you know, twice in the last fifteen minutes actually," Stiles said, pitching his voice like he was proud of doing so. God, the things he did for this kid. A good thing Quinton wasn't quite adept at picking up on when people were lying to him, because yeah, asking for help the first time was fine but needing to have someone get his backpack for him had sort of rankled.

Quinton stared at him and Stiles couldn't help but wonder what it was that the five year old was looking for. Whatever it was, he must have found it because his little shoulders drooped and he asked in a somewhat plaintive voice, "Did you really? Not lying to me?"

"Nope. I had to ask a friend to go pick plants for me to make my salves and then, just a bit ago, I asked _you_ to get my bag, remember? I had to ask for the help because I can't walk on my ankle. Q-bean, I want you to do me a favor."

Quinton shoved his booted toe at the ground, his hands now tugging at his over shirt, "What?"

"If something is heavier that you expected, like my book bag, please ask someone for help. We just don't want you to get hurt, okay? You got the puppy dog eyes man, use 'em!" Stiles frowned, "Just…not on me. No puppy dog eyes allowed on me. Grampa though, use them on him. Get him to eat his vegetables more."

"Stiles," John said, his voice full of exasperated amusement.

Stiles cast a cheeky grin over his shoulder at his father before turning back to Quinton, "We good?"

Quinton nodded slowly, "Yes," The five year old then turned around and looked up at Derek, doing exactly as Stiles commanded and turning on the puppy dog eyes, "I can't do it like I said. Can you help? Please?"

Stiles had to bite back a snicker as he watched Derek fight not to melt at the power of Quinton's overwhelming cuteness. Derek managed to keep it limited to a small sigh and crouched down, resting his forearms on his knees, "Tell you what, how about I take one side and you take the other."

Quinton nodded happily and bent over to grab the locker hook handle at the top, "Ready!" He exclaimed, watching with hawk like eyes as Derek picked up the other end. Together, they carried the bag into the dining room proper and slid the bag onto the table.

Stiles grinned and bent over to press a kiss to Quinton's forehead, "Well done Q!"

Quinton beamed up at him, eyes bright, before saying magnanimously, "Derek helped."

"That he did," Stiles nodded, "Should I thank him as well?"

"And that's my cue to leave," John said, "I'll go get dinner going."

Stiles crooked his finger at Derek, who bent over with a bemused expression on his face, "Thank you, sourwolf," Stiles whispered, pressing the lightest of kisses to Derek's mouth. He leaned back with a smile, "Now then," Stiles said, his smile growing a bit larger as Derek huffed into his neck, "I need to get started on the base for the salves. Quinton, can you and Derek find me two really large mixing bowls?"

Quinton looked up at Derek before frowning and holding his arms up, "Please? I need to be tall."

A small smile crossed Derek's face and he swung Quinton up into his arms, "I don't think you do, actually. If I remember Stiles' re-arrangement of my kitchen, the really big bowls should be under the island," Derek said as they walked to the pantry.

"I moved them!" Stiles called over his shoulder as he pulled his bag towards him.

"Of course you did," Floated back to him, Derek's voice sounding exasperated but fond.

Stiles shook his head with a grin and dug into the bag. He felt around for a few minutes before letting out a near silent 'hurrah' as his fingers brushed over polished wood. He grasped more firmly onto the box and tugged it out. He pushed his bag away and set the box in front of him, running his fingers over the Vista crest before flipping the clasp that kept it safe.

Stiles felt a zap of power, telling him that the spells that kept the items inside safe and immovable had been deactivated. At least they were until he re-locked the case when he was done. He flipped open the lid before looking at the lists lying next to the box on the table.

Bases for salves and potions were the trickiest part, from what Stiles could gather. If the base was off even a little bit, the plants wouldn't work and thus the salve or potion itself wouldn't. When his grandfather had started teaching him the application part of healing, Stiles had spent full days perfecting his bases for as many salves and potions as his grandfather could think of.

Now, thankfully, he could pretty much do them with his eyes closed – especially the basic one for aches and sprains. It was just slightly disappointing that the one to help heal lacerations would take longer to set so that it would be more potent. Derek was so going to glare at him through dinner…and probably his dad as well. He just didn't see the point of going to the ER for stitches that he didn't even really need. Half hour tops and boom, he'd be right as rain…well, half an hour if Lydia and Scott ever got their ever lovin' supernatural butts back in the house with his ingredients.

TBC…


	18. Chapter 17

See Chapter one for summary and Disclaimer

A/N: So….hi? Sorry folks. No excuse. Major case of blockage…again. But I busted through and managed to kick this out and start the next chapter. Hope I can keep it up. But, look at the bright side, I didn't give up.

I do want to give a heads-up that I am going for a new position at work, and should I get it, things might be irregular in terms of writing – even more so unfortunately. It's not only a newly created position to clean up a buying department but would also mean transitioning from working second shift to first. Which – rough. I've done it before. So not fun after working second shift for three years. So yeah, that's a thing that might happen. I'm still waiting to hear if I made short list. Ugh.

Anyway – onward and enjoy! (Oh, **not beta'd**)

* * *

"Your dad really wasn't kidding about spoiling Quin, was he?" Derek asked from where he was standing near the door to the living room, his nose up as he sniffed the air wafting down the hall from the kitchen.

Stiles snorted, which was totally a bad idea given he could barely breathe through it, and reached for a stem of heather to begin shredding apart, "Please. Dad totally wanted those cookies for himself. He was just using Q as an excuse."

He sniffed and glared up at Derek through watery, itchy eyes. He was, rather unfortunately, a tad allergic to _one _of the flowers lying in a heap on the coffee table. Talk about a bit of a shock, walking into the flower shop and realizing that Fairies could indeed still suffer pollen allergies. Stiles had, of course, rinsed and scrubbed the parts of the flowers they would be using but his symptoms were slow to dissipate. He was hoping against hope that the water and oil infusions finished cleaning them up otherwise he was going to have to find some Benadryl the following night and heavily medicate, "Uhm, little help? You need to do this too for it to work, _Alpha._"

Derek rolled his eyes and, after another somewhat wistful glance down the hall, dropped down onto the couch beside Stiles, "What is the point of this?" Derek asked, grabbing an Iris blossom from his own pile.

Stiles barely resisted rolling his own eyes, "Flowers and plants are the…be all – end all for fairies so a lot of the intricate spell work deals with them almost exclusively."

"Why these particular flowers?"

"All flowers have…meanings. If you know it well enough, you can have a pretty long but incredibly sappy conversation, but to fairies, those meanings take on a more literal sense when magic is added. These flowers in particular deal with specific aspects we need for the allegiance between my bloodline and the pack. The Forget-me-not's are for remembering past allegiances, the aster is for patience, daffodils mean new beginnings, heather," Stiles waved the stalk slightly, "is for future fortune. Then there are Iris' for faith, lavender for luck, mimosa for friendship, Queen Anne Lace for future sanctuary, violets for faithfulness, and tulips for trust.

"We each have our own piles, because certain flowers represent you and the pack and the others me. These three," Stiles brandished the heather stem at the small pile of forget-me-nots, mimosa, and daffodil's that were tangled together at the edge of the table between them, "are the ones that we have to handle together later tonight."

Stiles plucked the last bud of heather off of the stem and dropped it into the bowl before reaching for one of the three stems of aster he had purchased. Technically the spell only called for one aster but Stiles figured a few more couldn't hurt. Extra patience when dealing with the pack was a particularly appealing notion.

Derek by this time had moved on to the Queen Anne Lace and was staring at it, looking faintly bothered. Stiles cocked an eyebrow at him in question and Derek waved his hand at the bundle of white, "How far down do I have to…"

It was an understandable question, Stiles supposed, given that the main stem broke down into dozens of smaller ones which then separated into the flowers, "We need the petals. No green."

"Seriously?" Derek grumbled to himself, as he began plucking at the very small, delicate petals.

Stiles chortled to himself as he finished off the final aster and reached for the single stalk of lavender. This particular flower needed the stems as well, so Stiles was able to just rip and drop, which deepened Derek's scowl with each motion. It was all Stiles could do to keep his laughter in check. This needed to be done and he didn't need the Alpha to stomp off in a huff before they finished. Finally, all that was left for him were two violets, each of which only took him a second to de-petal. He dropped them into the bowl and went about sweeping the scraps off of the table and into the small living room garbage can.

At this point, Derek was only half way through the branch of Queen Anne Lace and Stiles really couldn't take it anymore, "That's all we need," He said, plucking the branch out of Derek's hands as the werewolf dumped another small handful into the bowl.

"Are you sure?" Derek asked skeptically.

"Derek…it's a promise of future sanctuary, not an offer to build an entire house for me. Pretty sure."

"Actually," Derek said, grabbing the tulip and stripping the petals with quick movements, "I think that it's supposed to be more of a promise that I would keep you safe should a situation arise. Sanctuary is just a more literal term."

Stiles' mouth gaped open and his eyes widened. That was…okay, here's the thing. Stiles was very much aware that Derek wasn't stupid or all brawns over brain, he couldn't be to be honest, but there were times (such as stepping into that soon to be bookstore the day before and hearing Derek's plans for it) where Derek's intelligence just blew him away. Stiles had always been drawn to smarts, Lydia and eventually Danny had been prime examples of that, but there was something about Derek showing off his brains that just made life a little…uncomfortable for Stiles.

Derek dropped the last petal into the bowl and leaned over Stiles to drop the stem into the waste basket. As was his new habit whenever he got close, Derek took a second to bury his face into Stiles neck. Stiles squeaked lightly and grabbed at Derek's shoulders as the Alpha managed to press in even closer, amazed that his face was beginning to flush given how much blood had traveled south.

Derek ran his nose up along Stiles carotid artery, his stubble rasping up along the front of Stiles neck and over his adams apple. Stiles gasped at the sensation and tightened his grip to hold himself up when his spine threatened to liquefy, "Derek," he said, clenching his fingers, "My dad's in the other room."

"Then," Derek said, nipping at the soft skin under Stiles chin, "You should probably watch what you think about."

Stiles whimpered and managed to release one of his hands from Derek's shirt, raising it to trap in the dark nest of hair instead. He tugged Derek's face away from his neck before surging in to give Derek a desperate kiss. Derek pulled away, long enough to mutter, "God, the noises you make," before diving back in and all but forcing Stiles mouth open with his tongue and the fingers pressed at the hinge of his jaw.

The last time Derek kissed Stiles like this, Stiles had just hung on for the ride. This time, he was a much more active participant – kissing back hungrily, fighting for the control he had when he started this. Derek growled deep in his throat and pushed him back into the cushions, and Stiles hips –much to his mortification – levitated up off the couch at the sound and forcefulness of the maneuver.

"Careful with those cookies, Quin. We don't want to drop any before we can give them to Stiles and Derek," His dad's voice broke through the haze of lust and Stiles was suddenly left clutching nothing but a cold breeze.

He furrowed his brows and looked around the room before spotting Derek sitting in the arm chair, hunched over and peering at the spell book with a deep intensity. Stiles huffed and sat up, crossing his legs and pulling a pillow onto his lap. Granted, hearing his dads voice in the hallway was like being dunked in a bath of ice water, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

"Daddy! Derek! We brought cookies and milk!" Quinton exclaimed, hopping into the room. He had a little basket in his hands that was full up with the promised cookies.

"Those look awesome Q! Did you do those all by yourself or did you let grandpa help?" Stiles asked.

The night before, in lieu of a bedtime story, Stiles had talked to Quinton about how their relationship had changed and Quinton's new one with Stiles dad as well. Quinton, who hadn't had a father and figured everyone needed more grandfathers, took to the changes with gusto. Well, from what he could understand of it anyway. He may have been a precocious five year old but he was still five. Still, he was getting a kick out of calling Stiles daddy…and Stiles was too, if the clenching in his chest was anything to go by every time Quinton used it.

Quinton set the basket down on the table with careful little hands, "I mixed! And Grandpa let me press the button to chop the nuts. That was cool."

"Can't wait to try them buddy," Stiles said, leaning forward to do just that. He took the glass his dad held out and promptly bit into the cookie with a groan.

He had been skeptical, when looking up healthier alternatives to chocolate chip cookies on how they would taste, but he was always pleasantly surprised every time he bit into one. Between the applesauce, whole wheat pastry flour, and cornmeal it was just not at all an attractive recipe. But they had been trying a few different ones since cookies were one of the things the Sheriff refused to give up and it had been the winner.

He polished off the cookie in two more bites and followed it down with the entire glass of milk before grabbing another. Stiles glanced at Derek, who was staring down at his cookie with a look of betrayal on his face, "Problem?"

"What is this?"

"Choc'late chip cookie?" Quinton replied, his voice confused and somewhat muffled as he climbed up onto the couch next to Stiles.

"Why do I smell corn?"

Stiles chuckled, "Just try it."

Derek wrinkled his nose but obediently nibbled a small bit off the edge. His face smoothed out and he considered the cookie further, "Not bad. Good job Quin."

"Thank you!" Quinton said, snuggling into Stiles side with his sippy cup and a couple of cookies in hand.

"Oh, Stiles, before I forget," John said, taking a seat on the arm chair opposite Derek, "I found a box down in the basement – the one with all of your moms…fairy stuff. There should be something in there you can use for your…potion?"

Stiles blinked, "It's…not really a potion. Not in like, the Harry Potter sense or anything. Closer to a wine but without the fermentation…flower water? Anyway, I didn't know mom had stuff outside of her bow."

John shrugged and bit into a cookie, "It's not a big box or anything. I don't even know what's all in it. It's heavy and shoved to the back of a shelf. Derek could probably get it down."

Derek shoved the rest of his cookie into his mouth and pressed his hands to the arm rests of the chair in preparation to stand, "Sure, I can go do that now."

"Uh, no," Stiles said, setting back into the couch and wrapping his arm around Quinton, "Right now we are going to enjoy these fabulous cookies," he looked down at his empty glass, wishing that he hadn't guzzled it down, "Should have just brought the gallon in," Stiles said to his dad in consternation. He supposed it wouldn't kill him to get up and get some more. Well, not much, anyway, because he was awfully comfy. He let out a pitiful mew of noise as he moved the pillow to the side.

Derek huffed and stood, "I'll get it. I need to use the bathroom anyway."

"Thank you!" Stiles beamed at him. Derek grunted in acknowledgement before walking out of the room.

"Yeah, like that wasn't a ploy," John said, knowing full well Derek could hear him before gulping the rest of his own milk down.

Stiles let an affronted look settle on his face, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"What's a ploy?" Quinton asked, looking between Stiles and John curiously.

"A trick," John said, "kind of like when you use your puppy dog eyes to try and get what you want."

Quinton bit his lip, looking up at Stiles curiously, "You didn't use puppy eyes, though."

Stiles couldn't help the laugh that bubbled in his throat and he pressed a kiss to the top of Quinton's head, "No, I didn't. Don't worry about it buddy, you'll get it when you're older."

"God, that's a horrifying thought," John muttered, "Pass me the cookies will you?"

* * *

Stiles looked around the basement in bemusement, wondering idly what had brought his dad down here in the first place. They rarely bothered what with having a laundry room right off of the kitchen. Most of his mom's stuff that they couldn't part with had been moved down here (the rest donated) when he and his dad were mentally able enough to handle packing her away and they really hadn't been down since.

"I'm going to assume this is the chest he was talking about," Derek said, coming out of one of the storage rooms with a wooden chest in his hands that was carved with fauna and various rune work.

Stiles snorted and ran his fingers along the clasp, that feeling of _mom_ and _family_ that he had felt with the bow wrapping around his hand and snaking up his arm, "Oh, I'd say so. Set it on the table. I'm kinda dying of curiosity here."

Derek set the chest on the work table that ran the back wall, a remnant left from the house's previous owners as his dad had never worked with wood in his life, and stepped back. Stiles cocked his head as he looked over the box, letting his magic out to test if there were any protection spells. There were, but nothing that would hurt him. Evidently, even if his mom had thought he was fully human, she had planned to allow him access to the chest.

"It kind of looks like a pirates chest, doesn't it?" Stiles asked, reaching out and flipping the turn key so he could lift the iron clasp.

"Well, at least what modern media thinks is a pirate's chest at any rate," Derek said.

"Funny." Stiles lifted the lid and his eyebrows rose in surprise. Well, this was interesting. Everything he needed for the spell that night was nestled all cozy in the chest – and had been in the basement the entire time. Kismet really. And sort of surprising. The way everyone had talked, his mom hadn't really been one for the more intricate fae work, leaving that up to her parents and sister.

He spied a piece of rolled paper tucked to the side and slid it out. It was a note from his grandfather to his mother, talking about his grandmother's death and her wish for his mom to have the chest. Well, that certainly explained that and why the chest was not only so old but had been shoved away. Stiles was starting to form the picture here that his mom might have tried some spells to save her slowly fading life after the fire but hadn't managed. Eventually, she must have spelled the box to accept him so that he could eventually get into it. The book strapped to the lid that had ribbons marking pages of healing spells pretty much confirmed it.

There was, however, something about the chest that was bothering him, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He stared at it, eyebrows furrowed when Derek spoke up, "Why is the lid flat on the inside?"

"Hm?" Stiles glanced back at him, "What are you talking about?"

"The way the chest is made - the lid is rounded on the outside, but you just unstrapped that book from a flat surface."

Stiles eyes widened in surprise, "Hidden compartment you think?"

"Not so hidden, maybe just a way to separate items?"

"Makes sense," Stiles agreed with a nod. The lid didn't drop back onto its top, the hinges were too old to allow for that. So whatever was being kept in the top, if anything was, it certainly wasn't fragile. Well, that's what Stiles was assuming anyway. He supposed there could be velvet backing and little nooks and crannies but really, what were those odds? And honestly, what would be the point?

He tilted his head and peered around the lip of the lid before spotting the little clasps at the front corners holding it shut. He pinched them and carefully let the section of wood drop down. His caution was well granted. Strapped to the other side of the board were a couple of ceremonial daggers. The rest of the compartment was empty so Stiles started to close it. The daggers would come in handy that night, but weren't currently needed. The nice thing was that they would save them the trip to Deaton's later that afternoon.

As he was about to lock the clasps back together, a piece of white flashed in the corner of his eye that wasn't noticeable while the wood panel was down, "Derek, there's a piece of paper or something in there. Can you grab it out?" Stiles asked, opening the section just enough to allow Derek's hand through without losing sight of the paper.

Derek slid his hand in and pulled the paper out with two of his fingers. Stiles closed the compartment up and took the paper as Derek held it out. To Stiles shock, it was an envelope and when he flipped it over, his name was written there in his mom's handwriting, "Oh," Stiles said softly, biting his lip, "Little unexpected."

Derek didn't say anything, just closed the chest and picked it up before gently grasping Stiles shoulder and guiding him towards the stairs. Stiles went willingly, finding it hard to tear his eyes away from the graceful curve of his mom's S.

"Did you find the chest okay?" John asked, looking up at the sound of the basement door closing.

"Yeah," Derek set the chest on the kitchen table and pressed on the shoulder he was grasping, urging Stiles to sit.

John raised an eyebrow, "You okay kid?"

Stiles shrugged, laying the envelope on the table, "Did you know mom wrote me a letter?"

"No. Have you read it yet?" John asked, a melancholy look coming over his face.

"No. I'm gunna go…" Stiles plucked up the letter and stood. He gave his dad and Derek a strained smile as he pointed his thumb over his shoulder, before turning and walking out of the kitchen. Stiles ran his fingers over his name, smiling faintly at the smooth penmanship. It must have been early in her slow decline that she had written the letter, towards the end she had been shaky with weakness and barely able to hold a pencil let alone write in cursive.

He slid into the recliner by the front window and pulled the envelope flap out from where it had been tucked inside itself. It contained a sheet of paper and a photo of him and his mom that he didn't remember being taken but he couldn't help the tears welling up at the sight of her, despite the fact that he kissed a photo of her that he kept on his nightstand every morning. It felt different, knowing that she had tucked away this small piece of herself for him to find.

Stiles grabbed the sheet of paper and opened it, glad his mom had written this in her 'quick' version of handwriting, a mix of print and cursive depending on which version of the letter was fastest. He wasn't overly fond of deciphering full on cursive.

'_My dearest Stiles, _

_If you found this letter than I can assume one of two things happened; _

_The first is that you are cleaning out the house because your father has finally joined me. If that's the case, I hope that you are old and gray because that means you had so many years with him. And let me tell you, thinking that I could be writing to my sixty or seventy year old son is an odd feeling. So we are going to move on because as sad as I am that I'm dying, knowing that I won't get to see you at that age hurts so much more. I would also like to stress that despite the contents of this chest, your father and I are not a part of some weird cult…although the possibility still remains that we could be considered pagan. I might need to think on that more. _

_The second is that someone; be it your dad, aunt, or grandfather…it doesn't matter who, told you about your heritage. In that case YAY! You're a fairy!_

_...if it's the first option above, well…SURPRISE, YOU'RE A FAIRY! Goodness, I couldn't imagine reading that line at your age. I don't think I'd believe it. But, if you've gone all this time without knowing, I suppose it's safe to say you never came into your heritage and your dad and I were correct in assuming you were a fully human child. If so, well, take it as a family lore, something to tell my grandchildren and great-grandchildren (possibly great-great) – 'your grandma thought she was a fairy, isn't that bizarre?' _

_If not…Stiles, I hope upon hope that you turn out to be human. Learning about your heritage and growing with your magic is one thing. Having it thrust onto you at a later age (I'd say you're somewhere between sixteen and eighteen, right? Majorities generally tend to be the same for both human and fairy, just depends on the way the magic goes) is kind of like having a child at that age…and since I had you when I was eighteen, I feel that is a pretty apt comparison. _

At this point, Stiles stopped reading and couldn't help but face palm. Not only at his mom's slap dash way of writing (he hadn't gotten his wandering mind totally from his dad, that was for sure), which granted had him chuckling a few times, but at the fact that he was indeed eighteen and a fairy and a father. She couldn't have hit that nail on the head more accurately.

_It's a lot of responsibility and a lot of learning at an age where most kids already think they know it all and don't try as hard. Please, please, Stiles – learn. Listen to your aunt and grandfather; let them help you so that you aren't damaging yourself and others. Respect that magic and above all? Enjoy it. What's the point of having magic if there's no fun involved? _

_I love you son, to Krypton and back! _

_Mom_

Stiles blinked and jumped a little when a tear splashed on the letter. He hadn't even realized he had teared up. He carefully brushed the tear away before sniffing and wiping at his cheeks. God, he missed his mom.


	19. Chapter 18

See chapter one for warnings and disclaimers

A/N: So, take a look at this! Another chapter…and so soon too. Amazing! Still no word on whether I got that position. I'm hoping next week. I was offered another spot at work if this one falls through, still a first shift position (I might get to have a life. Whoo!) so, that change is still going to happen no matter what.

Onwards and enjoy! (Oh ~ not beta'd except for by yours truly. My apologies for any mistakes.)

* * *

Stiles stared down at the book in front of him, his eyes frozen on the one part of the allegiance potion and spell that had been tripping him up since he had made the decision to align with the pack. Other than him, Deaton was the only other one who knew of this particular hiccup and had tried to reassure Stiles multiple times that everything would be fine. Stiles was well aware that everything would be fine, thank you very much, but that didn't mean he _wanted_ to do it.

He sighed and rubbed at his face as he leaned back against the headboard. He hadn't even talked to Derek about it yet, which - given that they were supposed to cast the spell in a few more hours – probably wasn't a smart thing to hold off on. Well, there really wasn't a probably about it. It definitely hadn't been a smart thing to put off. But, he had reasons, okay? Stiles was pretty sure that if Derek had known about this pretty little requirement, he would have called the whole thing off…and that was just something that they couldn't afford. Not right now with Alex skulking around somewhere and Stiles being the magical equivalent of old faithful.

"All right, what is it?" Derek asked as he walked into Stiles bedroom, a plastic bag dangling from his wrist and two plates in his hands, "I have heard you sigh, moan, and groan fifteen times in the last twenty minutes and not really the kind of sighs, moaning and groaning that I actually want to hear."

Stiles eyes widened and his mouth gaped open as he accepted the plate Derek held out to him, "I…you…really?"

"Hmm, what does that bring my count to now? Four? Or is it five…" Derek set his own plate on the bedside table opposite where Stiles was sitting, before dropping down on the bed and stretching his legs out, "Seriously, what?"

Stiles sighed again and looked down at the plate in his hand, overloaded with pizza rolls and curly fries. He set the plate on his own table and picked up the book, "So, I haven't…told you everything about this spell. There's…well, there's a blood component to it."

He saw Derek nodded slowly out of the corner of his eye. "I kind of gathered something like that. Flowers, oil, and water along with a few magic words just doesn't seem all that powerful to me."

Stiles snorted, "Uh, actually those flowers, oil, and water along with the whole _abracadabra_ thing is in fact pretty powerful. The issue is directing that power. Hence, the blood; little bit from the fae family, little bit from the pack…which is then mixed together and added to the flower water."

"…What aren't you telling me?"

"Well…" Stiles trailed off and bit at the cuticle beside his thumb, "I know it needs to be done, but I am not really sure how well I am going to be able to do it."

"Stiles," Derek reached out and tugged at Stiles wrist, pulling his thumb away from his mouth, "spit it out already."

"Magicisalwaysstrongestwhencastontheyoung," Stiles blurted out, eyes once again going wide as he turned to look at Derek.

"Magic is a what now? Slower, Christ."

"This spell…" Stiles winced, "Needs the youngest members of the pack and family going into the alliance," Stiles let out a slightly hysterical laugh, "Look, I know what you're thinking. Hell, I've been thinking it since yesterday afternoon but Deaton assured me it was the only possible way."

"Stiles…"

"And with Alex still roaming out there somewhere and me being a really loose cannon I just really don't think we have the choice. Also, I've never thrown out anything that I've already cast on. To be honest, I don't think it's a good idea…"

"Stiles."

"One of the first things my grandfather told me is to always think before casting and brewing because you do not want any waste…he said it kind of ominously so, like, probably a lot of bad stuff will happ-mph." Stiles narrowed his eyes at Derek from over the top of the hand now covering his mouth. He reached up and tugged the appendage loose, "Not cool dude. You could have just told me to shut up."

Derek rolled his eyes, "I did. Twice. Are you done rambling?"

"That answer currently depends on what you're going to say."

"Uhm, Quin is…"

"Sleeping, yeah. It's going on one in the morning, of course he is. I'm going to have to wake him up. I'm not going to cut my son and draw blood while he's asleep, could you imagine if the pain from that woke him up? And since it needs to be done with the knife…I just…"

He buried his face into his hands and pressed them to his knees, taking a few deep breaths. The thought of inflicting _any_ kind of pain on Quinton was causing his chest to constrict. Stiles felt Derek rub at his back and, after a few moments, turned his head to look at the Alpha.

"I'll go get Quin. Maybe you'll feel better if you have him in here until you have to wake him up. Text your dad and ask him to swing by. When he gets here, I'll run and grab Erica."

Stiles reached for his phone, with the intention to do just that. He paused as his fingers brushed the screen and glanced back at Derek, his eyebrows furrowed, "Erica?"

"She's the youngest," Derek said with a shrug as he stood up.

Well that couldn't be right. If Stiles had to take a guess, he would have sworn that either Isaac or Scott were the youngest. Scott's birthday was in August and Isaac, well…Isaac just seemed so much younger now that his bad boy phase was over.

"Huh."

"Erica's birthday is in September. Isaac was born in May. He's turning seventeen next month." Derek said as he walked out of the room, like he knew exactly what Stiles was thinking.

Again - huh. Good to know. He'd have to start thinking of a plan for Isaac's birthday. Maybe he'd get Scott to help and then give him the credit, be a proper wingman for his brother from another mother.

Stiles sent off the text to his dad and had just gotten a response as Derek walked back in, Quinton curled up into his shoulder looking for all the world like a newborn rather than school aged child that he was. Stiles lifted his phone and snapped a picture, grinning at the fact that Derek had looked down at Quinton just in time. Not only did it make for an even more adorable picture, but it also meant that there was no eye glare.

Derek rolled his eyes and deposited Quinton next to Stiles hip, "Your dad just pulled up. I'll be back in fifteen." He pressed a kiss to the corner of Stiles mouth before hopping out the window.

Stiles leaned back against the headboard and knocked his head back against the edge before looking down at Quinton. He reached out and ran his fingers through the sleep flattened curls. He didn't like this at all. He wondered how his and Derek's grandparents had managed to do the spell on their moms. Sure werewolves healed practically instantly but his mom certainly…hadn't…oh.

Stiles scrambled up off the bed and grabbed his case off of the bookshelf before rushing out of the room and down to the kitchen. The good thing was that when Lydia and, tangentially Scott, had gotten him the plants he had needed the night before, they had stocked him up full. He didn't need a healing salve as potent as the one he had done for his injury, thankfully, and would be able to get it done nearly right away.

"Hey dad," Stiles said, sending his father a grimace of a smile as he slid around the stair banister at the bottom of the stairs.

"Stiles. What's the rush?"

"Ah," Stiles paused, "Just making a healing salve."

John nodded slowly and shut the door, "Uh huh. Is everything okay?"

"Everything is fine," Oh look, the grimace was back and apparently wasn't all that reassuring - his dad was giving him that look that made it seem like he was going to pull a Gibbs and smack him upside the back of the head. Seriously, it made Stiles want to put an embargo on the NCIS marathons. It gave his dad _ideas_, "What?"

"Stiles."

"Ugh, fine," Stiles turned and went down the hall, setting his case on the island, "Did mom ever tell you what that alliance spell with the Hales entailed?"

"No, she always seemed to hedge past that part, much like you just tried to do."

Stiles went over to the cabinet and pulled out a bowl, "Figures," He glanced upwards and murmured a soft _'Thanks mom'_ before shrugging as he set the bowl down, "So, the spell requires blood."

John took a seat at the island and watched as Stiles opened the case and began pulling out the ingredients that he was going to need, "Okay? Why the need to gloss over that? You're a big boy, you can handle pain. I don't see why you need…" John trailed off and his mouth dropped open, "Oh, you don't. Stiles…"

Stiles sighed and set the knife that he was using to chop up some ferns down. It certainly didn't take his father very long to make _that_ connection, "I know dad. Believe me, I know. It's been driving me nuts since I found out yesterday. But," He shrugged and pulled out the lava stone pestle and mortar set that had been a coming of power gift from his grandfather, "We need to do it. I mean, you said it yourself when you were telling me about mom. Magic is always stronger,"

"When cast on the young. Yeah, yeah. And technically, I was just repeating what your mom told me, so…Christ, her and Talia were two when that alliance spell was cast."

"Werewolves equal faster healing, especially the born weres. And grandpa was on hand for the spell, and he's ace at potions and salves. He probably had some kind of local anesthetic made up that wouldn't hurt the integrity of the flower water for mom."

"And you can't do that for Quin?"

"Never learned it," Stiles shrugged again and began grinding down the plants, "It's not one of the potions in the books Aunt Mer gave me and grandpa took the ones he was teaching me out of with him. Not to mention it's just speculation on my part because just the thought of doing this is killing me so it probably bothered grandma and grandpa just as much."

"Especially if they were so young. Quin is five, he's at least going to know."

Stiles snorted, "Yeah, that's something. The second fun part is going to be calming down mister grumpy pants when I wake him up. This whole thing is going to be just a barrel of laughs."

"Yeah, glad I won't be here for that."

"Hm. I wonder if I can get Derek to shift and wake him up. Quin loves his wolf form."

"Not happening."

Stiles looked up and smiled sheepishly as Derek walked into the kitchen, "Hi Derek. Are you sure? It would be really helpful."

"No," Derek grabbed a couple of waters from the fridge, "I'm not an alarm clock. I start doing it now and he's going to come to expect it."

"Yadda. Hey, where's Erica?"

"She'll be here soon. She had to change."

Stiles set the pestle to the side and pulled the bowl closer, "Uh, question. Why didn't you just text or call her?"

Derek snorted and slid onto the stool next to the sheriff, "She has a phone curfew."

Stiles eyes widened and flew to his dad who was looking like Christmas had just come again, "A phone curfew?" John asked, "Tell me more."

Stiles sliced his hand in front of his throat and mouthed 'abort, abort' at the alpha when the man's eyes flew to him. Derek apparently couldn't take a hint though, because he just chuckled, "Yeah. Eleven o'clock and the phones are hooked to a charger in the kitchen. No phone allowed in the bedroom. It's a place for sleep only."

"Just think about it dad," Stiles said, leaning towards his dad with a sly grin, "Bedroom is just for sleeping? Think about all the togetherness we could have." John sat back and stared at Stiles. Stiles raised an eyebrow and his grin widened, "I've been thinking about putting in a vegetable garden out back. We could so do that together. It would be so awesome for you, too, having all that fresh produce on hand."

John pointed his finger at Stiles, "I see what you're doing. What are you going to do if I actually take you up on that?"

Stiles shrugged and tipped the crushed plants from the bowl to the mortar, "Go through with it. I wasn't lying you know."

"It's not like I can enforce a cell phone rule anyway," John said with a sigh, "As for the garden, have fun with that."

"Ah, no." Stiles mixed the plants with the base, "You're helping."

"Look at the time. Breaks over. Good luck boys."

Stiles waited until the door was shut before turning on Derek, who had his eyebrow raised with a smirk, "You, sir, are not funny."

"Oh, I don't know. I thought it was pretty funny."

"Phone curfew. Christ." Stiles covered the bowl with cling wrap before carrying the pestle and mortar to the sink to wash, "Could you imagine what that would do to me? I'd go nuts."

"Well, like he said, it's not like he could enforce it. Besides, he probably feels better, you having your phone by you all the time."

* * *

"Okay, Stiles, I hate to say it but," Erica trailed off as she looked around, "Well, no, I don't. Your room is so…."

"I did not bring you here to dis my room." Stiles said, setting the salve on his desk next to the water. He opened the chest and pulled out one of the knives, "Okay, the blood needs to mix with the flower potion for an hour and its going on two so…"

He turned towards the bed and eyed Quinton. Fun time part one to commence. Ugh. Stiles walked over to the bed and sat on the edge. He reached out and, taking a deep breath, shook a little shoulder. Quinton groaned and rolled over. Stiles bit his lip, "Come on Q, I need you up for a few minutes."

Quinton clenched the pillow and buried his head deeper. Okay, so it was going to be like that then, "All right, big guns time."

Stiles cracked his knuckles and reached out. He dug his fingers into the side of Quinton's tummy and began tickling. Quinton laughed through a yawn and he blinked up at Stiles, "Whaaa-aat."

"I need you up buddy. We need your help with something."

Quinton frowned and snuggled back down into the blankets, "Dun' wanna."

"Unfortunately," Stiles said, reaching down and pulling the boy up into his arms, "We don't have much of a choice."

"What do you need me to do?" Quinton asked, resting his head against Stiles shoulder as Stiles stood up.

"Well," Stiles started, looking over at Derek who shrugged at him. No help from that corner then, dammit, "We, uh, we need some of your blood."

Quinton pushed himself up and stared at Stiles, "What."

Stiles blinked, "Okay, that wasn't in the form of a question. We are so limiting your time with Derek. Anyway," Stiles set Quinton down on the desk, "It's just going to be a small prick to the palm of your hand. Erica will be doing it too."

"That's gunna hurt."

"I know Q, but it won't for long. You know the stuff I made to help my arm the other day?" Quinton nodded, "Well, I made some for you. As soon as we get a few drops, I promise I'll use it right away and then you can go back to bed."

Quinton rubbed his hands along his pajama pants before he gripped the flannel, "I don't wanna do this."

Stiles leaned it and brushed his lips against Quinton's forehead, "I don't either buddy."

"Two minutes to two. Stiles, we need to do this now," Derek said.

"Right. Quinton first. With Erica's healing…" He trailed off before taking a deep breath. He helped Quinton to his feet, "Okay Q. After I cut your palm, I need you to hold your hand up until I tell you to flip it over, okay?"

Quinton blinked at him, his green eyes filled with tears, "Okay."

Stiles blinked back the wetness he could feel building in his own eyes and picked up the knife. He grabbed Quinton's hand and, after taking another deep breath to gird himself, he pressed the blade to the palm of Quinton's hand.

His heart broke at the cry of pain Quinton emitted, the tears finally breaking loose, "Shh, Q, it'll be okay." He passed the knife to Derek and held Quinton's hand over the water while he ran his free hand through Quinton's hair.

He heard a slight gasp come from Erica and saw her hand shoot out. He quickly turned Quinton's own hand over and watched as the blood dripped from both hands. Five drops managed to fall before Erica's hand healed up and he pulled Quinton's hand away before another could. He gathered Quinton into his arms and dropped onto the chair, pulling the bowl of salve close, "Okay, Q, lets heal your palm."

Quinton sniffed hard and held his hand out. Stiles grabbed a towel and dipped it into the salve before going to press it to Quinton's palm. He was about to press the towel down when he noticed something. He licked his thumb and rubbed it across the baby smooth skin, "Huh. Does your hand still hurt buddy?"

Quinton shrugged, "Little. You gunna make it better?"

"Of course I am! I think though, that all you need is an all better kiss," Stiles pressed his lips to Quinton's palm where he had placed the cut that had healed up on its own, "How's that?"

"Better."

"Ugh, I think I'm going to be sick. Do you need me anymore?"

Stiles shook his head as he pulled Quinton into a tight hug, "No. Thank you, Erica, for helping us."

Erica flipped her hair over her shoulder, "I'd say anytime, but let's try to keep the midnight sojourns to a minimum, hm?" She dropped Stiles a wink before slipping out the window.

Stiles blinked before turning look at Derek, "Uh…"

Derek shook his head before crouching down in front of them. He reached out ran his fingers through Quinton's hair, "Not using the salve?"

"Don't need it."

"What."

"Seriously, stop that. Quinton is starting to pick up on it. And anyway, his hand healed up on his own. See?" Stiles held Quinton's hand out, nuzzling into Quinton's temple as Quinton's free hand gravitated up to his mouth.

"Part of his Kelpie blood?"

"Gotta be. Fairies don't heal like that. Also, good information to have, to be honest," Stiles ran his hand along Quinton's back, "Okay buddy. You can go back to sleep. You need a drink or to use the bathroom first?"

Quinton shook his head and yawned. He nuzzled into Stiles neck and closed his eyes with a sigh. Stiles couldn't help but smile at the utter cuteness of his son. Stiles stood up and nodded at the bed, "Come on, we have an hour before we have to take the water. I'm in the mood for some Doctor Who."

"Oh Yay."

Stiles slid onto the bed, "Quit fronting. I know you love the Who."

An hour later, Derek set Stiles laptop to the side as Stiles slid Quinton to the bed from his chest where the boy had conked out. It was time. Stiles climbed out of bed and walked over to his desk. He grabbed up a spoon and did a quick mix of the flower water before ladling some out into a goblet that had been in his mom's chest.

He held it up to Derek, "Bottom's up."

Derek took the goblet with a grimace. He stared down at the water for a moment before sighing and tossing back the water, "Yum."

Stiles took the goblet back and ladled up the rest of the water. He took a sip before shrugging and drank the rest down in one deep swallow, "Not bad."

"Question is, did it work?"

TBC…


	20. Chapter 19

See chapter one for summary and disclaimer

A/N: Oh my gosh, look what I did! Finally! Another chapter made it out. I want to point something out here that I probably should have many, many chapters ago (mostly 'cause I did an amazing thing and want to share the amazing. I'm horrible). Stiles version of panic attacks are based pretty accurately on mine. Mine more closely resemble asthma attacks, which is what my parents thought I had for a while. Like Stiles, I wasn't put on meds to control them (for a totally different reason, mostly because I hate taking medicine that'll make me feel weird whereas it's likely that for Stiles there would be an unfavorable interaction with his Adderall). My point in that ramble is that I used my own coping mechanism for Stiles. Well, about a month or so ago, I had a pretty bad attack due to some upheaval at work and I drew Dylan. It's _amazing_. Seriously, I still am not certain on what I did – the texts to my sister during the process can confirm that – but dudes, check it out! - link is on this chapter at AO3 (my handle there is mneme2434)

Now that that's out of the way…onward and enjoy! (see a/n at end for a poll information)

* * *

Stiles pursed his lips and dipped his brush into the little cup of graphite powder he had sitting next to his easel. He tapped it gently on the rim and carefully started applying the next level of graphite to the drawing.

It was sort of annoying, that he had even bothered to try using the stuff in the first place but now he refused to give up. Isaac, who had a horrible addiction to the humor side of Pinterest (and tumblr, but Stiles refused to go there with the teasing, because anything that could make that wolf laugh was a Godsend), had stumbled across some hyper-realism drawings that he couldn't help but show Stiles. Stiles had been amazed at the level of realism, so many steps above his own drawings, that he had instantly dropped into research mode to figure out how to accomplish it. It wasn't easy.

Derek had been kind enough to pick up a jar of the powder that morning when he had run to the hardware store and, after a few hours of pretty intense google-fu, Stiles had holed himself up in _his_ corner of the shop with his smaller easel and a light with only a break or two to spend some time with Quinton. Quinton, who loved Stiles drawings, never really bothered him when he was drawing, almost instinctively knowing that the art work helped to relax his dad. It was because of this that Stiles had set an alarm on his phone to buzz every half an hour or so, just so he could drag his head back to Earth and check on his son.

Who, speaking of, was currently following Derek around like a little shadow, an oversized canvas draped over his arms. When he saw Stiles looking, he let out the biggest smile he could, showing off his missing teeth and the little buds of the new ones just starting to grow in, "Look! Derek's lettin' me help!"

Stiles raised an eyebrow and looked at Derek, who shrugged, "Scott and Isaac went to get food and he wanted something to do."

"Hmm, just be careful, okay buddy?" Stiles said, directing his attention back to his son, "We don't need you tripping over anything and knocking out more teeth before they're ready. That happens and you'll be back on baby mush."

Quinton made a face, "Yuck. I'll be careful. Promise."

Stiles nodded and leaned back, turning his attention back to his sketch board. He couldn't, however, help the quick glance over to the two again. Stiles had to admit, Quinton was a great distraction.

That morning (after finishing the first part of the allegiance spell and Stiles calmly trying to explain to Derek that the second half still had to be performed during the full moon itself before they knew if it worked) Erica had slipped back into the room just as they were bedding down for a few more hours of sleep. She had smelled horse during her trek home, which took her along the edge of town near the highway. What worried her was that the smell was strongest at a seedy motel and there were no farms with horses out that way. It had been the verification they were looking for that Alex was in town.

Derek had been tense ever since and the moon* that night wasn't particularly helping much. Damned super moon anyway. Normally, Stiles would be all over that shit, researching the moon and what its effects were. But the way his wolves were acting, he just couldn't enjoy it. The moon was taking an already stressful situation and making it so much worse. All of the pack, at least the werewolf contingent, had taken the day off from school, not wanting to take any chances with their control.

Scott and Isaac were spending the day with them, helping keep an eye on Quinton and allowing Stiles some free time to clear his mind. Erica, Boyd, and Jackson were roaming the area to keep an eye out for Alex, using the diner as a base for their comings and goings. So far, other than a faint trace of him near the school, the man had yet to physically turn up. Stiles was starting to wonder if Alex was part ghost, the way he was managing to get around town without being spotted.

Scott and Isaac returned with a bang, causing Stiles to startle. He looked down at his drawing and whimpered. Powder from the brush covered the drawing and he wasn't so sure he could remove it. He looked over at the stairs and glared as the two came down, "Assholes. Both of you are werewolves. How is it possible for you to make so much noise?"

Scott tripped to a stop on the last step, his face crumpling into his wounded Bambi look as Stiles scolded him, "What did we do?"

Stiles sighed, "Nothing. Sorry."

"No," Derek said, walking over and glancing at the drawing over Stiles shoulder, "You're right. Once this mess is taking care of, we're going to have a few sessions in stealth and balance. It's probably something we should have started on earlier." He pressed a hand to Stiles shoulder and squeezed, "You weren't very far at least."

Stiles huffed out a breath and ripped the paper from the sketchbook slowly to keep the mess minimal, "Yeah, I know. For all that it was annoying, it was kind of working. I get the same kind of frustrated even on a normal drawing when I screw up too far along," He looked back at Scott, who was still pouting at him, "Sorry. Probably not the best day to start working with a new tool."

Scott gave him a tremulous smile and scurried over, setting the food he was holding on the table next to Stiles like an offering. Stiles, who couldn't generally stay mad at Scott even when he was riotously pissed off at him, gave him a smile. Scott grinned back and slipped into the chair tucked away on the other side of the table, "We went to the Chinese place up the street. Figured with the other three in and out of the diner, two more ordering a significantly large portion of food would be suspicious."

Stiles straightened up and his smile turned into a full on real grin. He loved Chinese food! Almost as much as curly fries to be honest, but it was on the list of no-no foods for his dad so he didn't get to partake in it as often as he wanted, "Honey chicken? General Tso's?"

Isaac brought over the bags he was carrying, Quinton attached to his back like a limpet, "Yes to both, along with pepper chicken and a couple cartons of beef and broccoli. We also swung into the dollar store and picked up some plates. Figured family style would go better so we can all have a little bit of everything."

"Awesome," Stiles said, head and hands already buried in a bag, "Love you guys. Q, get ready for the best experience of your life!"

* * *

Stiles sighed as he watched Scott scan the parking lot like he was some kind of spy in a James Bond film. It had been a fight and a half getting away from the store without Derek on his tail, Stiles would fully admit to having it bad for the Alpha but _space_, and Derek had only agreed to it when Scott volunteered to go with Stiles.

Stiles was beginning to feel bad for all those people under police protection, because this restriction of freedom? Sucked balls. He dropped his head onto his fist and couldn't help but roll his eyes as Scott pressed himself flat against the wall and peered around the corner.

"Dude," Stiles muttered, "use your senses would ya? I don't want to be sitting here for the next hour."

Scott glanced over at him with squinty eyes before huffing a visible sigh. His body stilled and his head cocked as he lengthened his hearing. After a moment, he waved at Stiles.

"Finally," Stiles said before slipping out of the car. He punched Scott lightly on the shoulder when he reached him, "You're all kinds of ridiculous, you know that right?"

"Yeah, yeah. Come on. Doc's only on lunch for another twenty minutes."

They entered the vet clinic from the back, heading down the short hallway to Deaton's office. Stiles tapped at the door jam to catch the Druid's attention. Deaton waved them in with a distracted hand and the two teens took a seat across from him.

Stiles, who had never actually been in the office before despite how much time he had spent at the clinic, looked around in curiosity. There wasn't much by way of decoration, just a few plants sitting on a couple of bookshelves that were jammed packed with books. There were a few pictures of a dog and a couple of cats up on the wall, interspersed with Deaton's diplomas. Stiles eyes gravitated back to the bookshelf and he couldn't help the squint as he tried to make out the titles of the trade back books on the top shelf.

"I like to read on my breaks when I don't have an emergency or paperwork to finish," Deaton said, drawing Stiles attention back to him. Deaton clasped his hands on his desk, "Now, what can I do for you? When we last talked, you had everything under control. Or so you said."

Stiles scratched the top of his head in discomfort. Despite the research that Lydia had done into Kelpies, there had been one piece of information that had eluded them. Well, two…but Stiles was going with the assumption that for the most part, Kelpies were horses so their weaknesses would be similar. The thing was, Kelpies were still a supernatural being which brought him to that much needed second piece of information, "This is going to sound like a really stupid question."

"There is a saying…" Deaton started, his eyebrow raising.

"That there is no such thing as a stupid question, yeah, yeah," Stiles finished for him, "You should probably reserve judgement until you hear it. Anyway, mountain ash. Is it a barrier for werewolves only?"

"You were hoping to use it tonight for Quinton?"

"Yeah." Stiles slumped back in his chair, not even a bit surprised that Deaton knew why he was asking, "We don't know Alex's end game and we can pretty much make the guarantee that he's going to show up tonight."

Deaton hummed and his eyes went vacant as he thought. A moment later, he said, "A talisman of Anise root and Aloe at the four corners of where Quinton will be. Blessed of course. I could make larger talisman's to block off the Hale property as well, if you wish."

Scott straightened, "You know, that might not…"

"No," Stiles said, cutting him off, "I get the idea, but I want this to end tonight. I am so sick of looking over my shoulder and worrying that Quin's been snatched every time he is out of my sight."

Scott looked at him for a moment, "Shouldn't that be Derek's call? It's his property, his pack."

Stiles crossed his arms with a raised eyebrow. Was Scott really going to do this? "Call him. I want the allegiance done as much as he does, if not more. But if he wants his territory magically fenced in, I won't be there tonight. My son's protection comes first."

"Okay," Scott said, digging out his phone.

Stiles mouth gaped open, "Are you kidding me?"

"He's the Alpha. I can't make this call. I will tell you this though. If he goes for warding the land, I'll be right behind you."

Stiles felt a warm feeling of gratitude bloom in his chest. Scott was an awesome friend – when he wasn't love sick anyway, "I appreciate the thought dude, but not happening."

"Why not?"

"Because you are, essentially, Derek's second. He'll need you tonight."

Scott scowled as he hit the call button for Derek's speed dial, "We've been going through full moons for months now with no issue. If anything, he'll _want_ me with you."

It thankfully didn't come to that. Derek had the same train of thought as Stiles and wanted the whole shit storm done and over with that night. That was probably a good thing, because Stiles didn't think that Derek would let him out of his sight a second time that day.

"The talismans do not take much to make and I have everything on hand," Deaton said, once Scott had his phone put away. "Stiles, these require an anchor. Since you are doing this to protect your son, blood will be the best choice. As long as you are alive and until you remove them –"

"The talisman will remain active and Alex won't be able to get in…or coax Quinton out," Stiles finished, ignoring the narrowed eyed look Deaton sent him for the interruption, "Makes sense. We doing this now?"

"I think that would be a good idea."

When they left Deaton's an hour later, Stiles couldn't help but pat gently at his messenger bag where the glass bulb talismans were nestled in next to his scythe dagger (that he had started carrying with him a few days prior). It was a weight off of his shoulders to know that Quinton, his dad, and Isaac would be safe that night - that the rest of the pack and Stiles would only have to worry about their own necks and not what was happening at his house. If luck was really on their side, Alex would wait to attack until after he and Derek did the allegiance spell, because seriously, that could only help.

He slid into the jeep and slid his bag behind the seat, being careful to wedge it between the seat and the baseboard of the backseat so it wouldn't jostle around. He glanced at Scott as he turned back around, who was staring out the window with a pensive look on his face.

"What?"

Scott drummed his fingers on his thigh, "What if he has help?"

"Who? Alex?"

"Yeah."

Stiles bit his lip as he slid the keys into the ignition, "What kind of help?"

"I don't know. Just a random thought."

"Well, if it's anything human my dad will shoot the fuck out of it. Anything supernatural, well…you haven't smelled any other wolves around, have you?"

"No, but that doesn't mean anything. If he had the help of a wolf, they could be waiting somewhere outside of the territory since Alex knew he'd be going up against at least one wolf before even coming here."

Stiles started the jeep and backed out of his spot, "That's a horrible thought but probably an accurate assumption. So, I'll do a mountain ash circle around the house just outside the talisman border to help combat that issue. If they need to get out, dad can break it while Isaac pulls a talisman to get Q out."

They met Derek and Isaac at the Stilinski house and Stiles nearly had his heart leap out of his chest at the sight that greeted him. The Alpha was stretched out in the corner of the couch with his feet up on the coffee table, head back and eyes closed. Isaac was curled up under his arm and making little whining noises with every exhale which, at quick glance, was making Scott show his besotted puppy dog eyes. Of course, Stiles couldn't exactly tease him for it, because he was pretty sure his own heart was in his eyes at the sight of Quin curled up in Derek's other arm like an overgrown puppy. Every few breaths he would make a little snuffle into Derek's elbow that had Derek's fingers twitch along Quinton's side in a soothing motion.

As quietly as he could, Stiles slipped his phone from his pocket and held it up, managing to snap one picture before Derek cracked an eye open to glare at him, "You're not as quiet as you think you are."

Stiles couldn't help the cheeky grin that broke out on his face, "Still got the picture dude. New favorite background."

"Don't call me dude," Derek huffed and closed his eyes, "Did you get what you needed?"

"Yeah. I'm going to go take care of it right now. Well," Stiles said, pausing as he stepped into the front hall, "The first part of it anyway."

"Why does everything that has to deal with you and magic come in parts?" Derek asked.

"Actually, the part to keep Alex out is done," Stiles leaned against the door jam and dug through his bag, pulling out the bulbs, "Just need to bury them. But Scott and I were talking and we're not sure if he has help so when we leave to head out to the house, I'm going to do a mountain ash circle. Dad'll be able to break it if anything happens."

Derek hummed, the sound almost non-committal, so Stiles took it as consent. He pushed off the door jam and grabbed Scott's arm, tugging him back into the hallway and down through the kitchen to the backdoor. He dropped his bag on the washer as he passed it by on his way through the door, "I'm going to bury the first three right now," He said, tilting his head contemplatively, "I was thinking directly at the four corners of the house, but Q might want to play outside for a bit so…maybe just past the swing set?" Stiles caught Scott's 'whatever' shrug and rolled his eyes, "Helpful, truly. Go get me a trowel out of the garage."

* * *

"Those two are not as subtle as they think they are," Stiles said, watching through the window as Scott and Isaac drove off on Scott's bike.

"They have nothing they're trying to be subtle about. Isaac's never going to make the first move and Scott is still in denial," Derek said, shifting Quinton off his lap. He stood up with a stretch and a low, satisfied rumble that sent a pleasant chill down Stiles spine.

Stiles turned and walked into Derek as the man's arms came down, "We're going to be okay tonight, right?"

Derek didn't say anything and Stiles pressed his face into Derek's neck at the non-response, knowing that the alpha didn't want to make any promises. Stiles sighed when Derek's arm's tightened around him.

"We should wake Quin," Derek said softly into Stiles hair.

Stiles rolled his head so he was looking at his son, "What time did he go down?"

"Just after you left the store, so around one thirty."

"Let him go for another half hour. What do you want for dinner?"

Stiles felt Derek shrug under his arms and he couldn't help the eye roll, "I swear - all the decisions. Christ."

Derek pulled away and looked at him with a frown, "All the decisions? What are you talking about."

"Nothing. We're having pasty's for dinner."

Derek's frown deepened and Stiles couldn't help the giggle that escaped as he watched the blush start to bloom at the top of Derek's ears. He knew exactly what the older man was thinking, "Stiles…"

"Relax sourwolf. Listen to the pronunciation. _Past_-e is a food, Cornish in fact - a popular food for miners. _Paste_-e is a form of underwear a woman, or possibly male who am I to judge, who works the pole wears."

"One question answered and another pops up in its place. What exactly is a pasty?"

Stiles made for the kitchen and began digging through cabinets, as well as the fridge and freezer, to make sure he had everything he needed, "It's a pocket of dough that is stuffed with meat, potato, and small cubes of carrots. Another popular version also has rutabaga. One of the variations that my gram liked to make was with cudighi sausage. Damned near burned my mouth out when I tried it. You'd probably like it. Shame you can't get it around here."

Stiles pulled out a book that was made up entirely of family recipes that his mom had put together from both sides of his family. It was mainly polish dishes, but his dad's mother had had a few cherished ones (which included the pasty's) that had come with her family from England, "Used to be that when the Cornish miner's wives made the pasty's, they'd split out a third with a slice of dough and fill the larger side with the meat mix and the other with a fruit filling for a dessert. They also had a thick rim of crust so the miners could hold them with their hands while they ate. My granddad, great-grandfather and his dad were all miners back in Michigan, so pasties have become something of a family tradition," Stiles continued, thrilled that Derek was willing to let him ramble on and was actually (most likely) listening.

Stiles frowned down at the recipe and glanced over his assembled items. Other than the meat and an onion, he was still missing a bouillon cube. He pursed his lips as he stepped into the panty, glancing over the shelves. He could have sworn he still had a few left in the jar. He slid a few cans out of the way before sighing and asking out loud, "Who can I con into going to the store for me?"

As it turns out, his dad was the easiest to con. As soon as he mentioned the word pasty, he could practically hear his dad shut down his office for the night and zoom out of the station.

His dad had also taken over the cooking when he got home – of course that was right after Stiles had finished making the dough, which was fine with Stiles. For one, for all that Stiles was more than capable of making them he didn't care for the prep. The feeling of getting meat and sausage under his fingernails while mixing it up just wasn't pleasant. Secondly, his dad was totally ace at making them, having grown up learning at his own grandmothers knee – something Stiles had only gotten to experience a couple of times before his great-grandmother had passed away and while his dad's mom could make them and make them well, her mother had been the self-proclaimed master.

When they were out of the oven and on the table to cool a bit, Stiles cocked an eyebrow at his dad who was making his way to the pantry, "Really dad?"

The sheriff scowled back at him, "In this case, there will be no argument. Brown gravy or bust Stiles. The ketchup gives me heartburn."

Stiles huffed out a fine and walked down to the living room where Derek was in the process of trying to wake up Quinton, "Still not up?"

"No, he keeps drifting back off as soon as I turn my back."

Stiles laughed lightly, "Yeah, he's done that since he was a baby. Never knew one to sleep so much, to be honest. I did a lot of research on babies when my aunt told me she was pregnant and this?" he wiggled a finger over his son, "This is rare."

"Is it a kelpie thing?"

"That…could be," Stiles blinked, "I'll have to look into it when this is all over. Doesn't seem to be hurting him any."

Stiles bent over and lightly dug his finger into Quin's side, smiling as Quinton jerked awake to shift away from the tickling finger, "C'mon buddy. Grampa has dinner just about ready."

Quinton yawned and knuckled at his eye before nodding, "K." He held up his arms and looked at Stiles imploringly with the doe eyes that Stiles was still incapable of resisting. It was a curse, these fairy genes. Hopefully, if he and Derek worked out, the Alpha would be able to counteract the part of him that wanted to melt at everything Quinton did - because otherwise the boy was going to be a terror when he got older.

"Q," Stiles started, trying his damnedest to put his foot down. It wasn't easy. "You are more than capable of walking to the kitchen." Quinton's lower lip slipped out and his chin started to quiver. Stiles took one look at that face and folded like a cheap suit, "All right, fine!" He slid his hands under the five year olds arms and hiked him up to his hip. Stiles pointed a finger at Derek as he walked past, his eyes averted in shame, "Not. A. Word."

He manfully ignored Derek's not so quiet snickers as he walked into the kitchen and dropped Quinton down at the table. His dad frowned at him, "You are going to spoil him."

"Oh my God," Stiles muttered, "I am not."

"Quin has two perfect good working legs. You can't let him manipulate you like that."

"Sure, sure, I'll just turn off the damned fairy genes," Stiles said, joining the man at the counter, "I was more than capable of denying him crap a few weeks ago."

John's eyebrow rose, the look on his face full of disbelief, "Are you really going to blame it on some genes rather than the fact that you are just a pushover?"

Stiles pointed at himself and wiggled his finger, "Supernatural creature now. The rules are different. Grampa thought it was hilarious and made sure to inform me once he stopped laughing that the healer part of my magic made me even more susceptible to kids."

His dad snorted and grabbed two of the plates that already had a pasty sitting on them. Stiles glanced over the counter and saw the Monsters Inc plate that had two pasties on them that were no bigger than the circumference of a pop can. He grabbed that up and his own plate, furrowing his eyebrows as he saw the three additional plates. He opened his mouth to ask about them when the front door popped open to the exclamation of, "Pasties!"

Stiles walked around the table and peered down the hall as Scott stood aside to let his mom through, Isaac following in her wake and carrying a few boxes and bags. He graced Melissa with a smile as she came into the kitchen, meeting her on the other side of the table with a kiss to the cheek. He handed her a plate and ushered her to a chair.

"Thanks Stiles," Melissa said as she sat next to John, "I had a free morning, so I went through some of Scott's old things that I kept. Feel free to take what you want for Quinton. Whatever is left over, I'll donate to goodwill."

"Thanks Melissa," Stiles said. He placed Quinton's plate in front of the small boy, "Here you go bud, its potatoes and carrots. If you want gravy, watch how grampa does it. Otherwise I'll get you some ketchup."

Quinton chewed on the side of his lip, watching as his grampa crushed the top of his pasty with his fork before pouring the gravy on until the pasty was nearly floating, "Gravy please."

Stiles shook his head fondly and watched as both his son and Derek copied John nearly exactly before pouring on their own gravy. His anticipation grew as he watched them both dig in with their forks before taking a heaping mouthful each. Both pairs of eyes grew wide, but where Derek slowed down to savor, Quinton swallowed quickly and dug out another bite, "Don't choke." He said, ruffling Quinton's hair before heading back to the counter.

He handed Scott his plate along with the ketchup, his friend liking the kick that came as the tomato sauce mixed with the spices in the meat. He grabbed up his plate and Isaac's, setting them on the table before sitting down and chopping into his own pasty like a man on a mission. Which, really, he so was. It had been over a year since he had had one and it was going to be awesome.

TBC…

POLL INFORMATION – so, I'm nearing a hundred thousand words and this story is only about half finished. Seriously, I can't do anything small. This started out as a Stiles doesn't think he's pack fic and morphed into something….else. Anyway, the poll. I want some opinions here for my two options.

OPTION ONE – continue on as I've been, and have it all as one really ridiculously long fic

OPTION TWO – end the first arc of the story in about three chapters and post the second part up as a part two but separate story.

I'm kinda preferring option two myself, but I wanted to know what you all thought! Let me know!


	21. Chapter 20

See chapter one for disclaimer

A/N: I gotta say, my new job at work (even with all the down time I have) is just not conducive to writing. Way too many people around and they are so _chatty_. It's been two months, people. I am so sorry.

As for the poll, most want super long…so, we're gunna go with that. Not just because most of you want that, but also because I know me…and if I put a finish on this before the story I'm telling is done, I may not start part two for a while. At least with this sitting unfinished, I work on it.

Something I haven't done, and I'm a horrible person, is that I haven't thanked any of you for the reviews and kudos. Seriously, thank you! It's amazing that so many people like this thing, that started out as a bunny that I hadn't planned on posting at all. With that said…onwards and enjoy!

* * *

Stiles stood in the back yard at dusk, watching as his friends (and not friends? Seriously, his current relationship status with Erica, Boyd, and Jackson was just confusing. Well, maybe not with Jackson. That was still pretty antagonistic.) shifted restlessly as the moon began edging over the horizon. As he noticed the sun about to set opposite the moon rise, he nodded at Derek who nodded in return and started to usher the pack into a semi-circle around him. Stiles dad moved to stand behind Stiles, Quinton's small hand tucked into his own. Melissa stood with the pack but near his dad, her own hand encased with his other one.

Stiles motioned for Erica to take Quinton's hand to close the circle. Once done, Stiles faced Derek before lowering his head and showing his neck as he let his magic bleed out into the air between them. After Derek's eyes flashed red at the indication of submission to the Alpha of the pack, Stiles began to speak, "Here I stand of my own free will under the light of the mother moon, pledging myself and the future generations of my family blood in an allegiance of support to the Hale pack – only to be broken upon the death of the last," He swallowed when Derek took in a sharp breath.

This was a part of the oath that Stiles had added, a caveat that would keep Quinton and any others after him safe, that might have kept his mom alive after the fire. He couldn't handle the knowledge that if something happened to the pack, it would affect Quinton, not him. His grandfather was a living testament of that happening. It was probably the biggest issue with blood born spells he figured.

"I swear to never raise a hand against the Hale pack, to help defend against enemies of the pack, and to aid those of the pack in need whenever and however possible."

Stiles couldn't help the gasp he emitted as his magic began to swirl around them, feeling like a gusty fall wind as it traversed between his family and the pack like a ribbon tying them together.

Derek took a deep breath, eyes bleeding red and staying that way as he brought Stiles magic into himself. He took a moment to compose himself before opening his mouth, "Here I stand of my own free will in the shadow of the father sun, pledging myself and the future generations of my pack in an allegiance of support to the Stilinski bloodline – only to be broken upon the death of the last," Derek took another ragged breath before continuing, "I swear to never raise a hand against the Nowak bloodline, to help defend against enemies, and to aid the line in whatever need they may have."

As soon as Derek finished speaking, Stiles magic seemed to reach its peak with a resonating hum before it slammed into the flower petals lying in a pile between their feet. The magic was almost concussive as it hit, the ground shaking from the force of it. The petals swirled up into the air, dissolving into a mass of colorful blinking lights as they went. As the lights reached chest height between Stiles and Derek, they stopped and hovered in a sudden silence that was almost deafening after the few prior moments.

Stiles met Derek's eyes over the lights just as they split into two and slammed into their chests. Stiles dropped to his knees with a gasp, shocked that he could actually feel a heat coming from the lights around the core of his magic as it tied into it. The lights then reached back out into the air and merged into the light exuding from Derek. Stiles couldn't help but gasp a second time as the webbing of lights from the spell melted over his magical core once the link between him and Derek settled. He had a very distinct feeling that, when away from the pack, he would now have some better control over his magic. He had no idea how much, but hell - wouldn't it be something if he could finally use his damned wings?

Stiles blinked and looked around when the pack sighed and Quinton giggled all in unison as the magic swirling around them stopped and then settled over the group like a warm blanket. He cleared his throat and looked back at Derek, "I think that's it?"

Derek gazed back at him before letting a small smile slip through, "I can feel you again. It's not the same as before, but…"

Stiles cocked his head, "And this time it's a two-way street. I can feel the pack as well. Just…a general sense of…well-being? I'm guessing that'll change if anyone becomes hurt?"

Derek nodded, "Might. I don't know much about how the allegiance spell works. Mom never talked about it." He climbed to his feet and offered Stiles his hand.

Stiles grasped it and let out an involuntary grunt as the man pulled, not even giving Stiles a chance to get his feet under him, "Thanks," Stiles gasped, rubbing at his shoulder, "Warnings are thing, just so you know."

Derek tightened his hand and leached some of the pain from Stiles, even as he faced his pack, "Watch the woods. Kelpies don't like magic, but they can still feel it. He's going to know we did something. Stiles and I are going to get the group staying here settled. Don't roam too far."

Stiles swept Quinton up into his arms and snuggled him in close as he started for the house. Quinton giggled at him and pushed at his face as Stiles tried to steal a kiss, "Noooo, don'…"

"Just one!" Stiles gave him his own puppy dog eyes, manfully ignoring his father's eye rolling as he held the door open, "Please Q?"

Quinton heaved a sigh as if put upon, "Jus' one." He placed his little palms on Stiles cheeks and gave Stiles a kiss that was more noise than anything.

"And there's my new background," Derek said from where he stood off to the side, "Hand him over and go get the last bulb."

Stiles blinked at Derek for a moment before nodding. He tightened his arms around Quinton for a second, before placing a more serious kiss on the five year olds cheek as Quinton shifted to go to Derek.

Once Stiles arms were free, he went into the dining room and grabbed the bulb from where he had placed it behind one of his father's fishing books. While none of them had left the house since he had gotten back from Deaton's and all of the were's could smell wet horse with ease, he just couldn't justify it to himself to leave it lying around out in the open.

Cradling it in his hand, he walked back into the kitchen, pausing to lean in and nose at Quinton's temple, "Love you Q-bean. Be good for grandpa, Melissa, and Isaac. Okay?"

Quinton nodded, his brown eyes solemn, "I will, promise. Love you daddy."

Stiles smiled and pulled away, only to be tugged gently into Melissa's arms, "Keep everyone safe," She whispered, her fingers tight at the back of his shirt.

"I will do my best," Stiles replied, not willing to promise anything more.

Melissa pulled back with a small sniff before cuffing him gently upside the head, her normal form of affection with him, "That's all I ask."

Stiles looked at Isaac, who was hunched in on himself like he wasn't sure what was going on around him. Stiles gave him a small smile which was returned half-heartedly, "Isaac…"

Isaac seemed to shrink even more before his eyes. Stiles wasn't quite sure why that was, until he followed Isaac's line of sight and saw that Quinton had curled up into his favorite spot at the nape of Derek's neck. He turned back to Isaac just in time to see his baby blues flicker away from him and towards the island. Oh. So it was like that.

"C'mere you goof," Stiles muttered, reaching out with his free hand to pull the other wolf in his life that was incapable of using words into his arms, "Scent it up buddy. One time free pass here."

Isaac let out a happy little whine and leaned in, pressing his nose in at the spot below Stiles ear that Derek was so fond of and the one that Scott went for when given half the chance. Stiles raised an eyebrow at that. If it turned out that that was a high dose scent spot, and he was so going to ask once the shit storm was over, he and his wolves were going to be having a little talk about boundaries and just when scenting him there was appropriate. Stiles was under no illusion that now that he was no longer officially pack, those that could actually stand him would be all up in his business to keep him smelling like them given half the chance.

"Take care of them Isaac," Stiles said, running his hand through blond curls, "You got the powers, dude, use them."

Isaac nodded, "Yeah, yeah of course."

Stiles slid his hand from Isaac's hair to cup is neck for a moment before stepping away, "Okay. Okay, we're not going off to war here. Why are we all being so damned emotional?"

John clapped him on the shoulder, "Might as well be son, for all you know."

Stiles turned to his dad, "Et tu?"

"Yeah, me too," John said, yanking Stiles in like he was a rag doll, "You used your mom's name?"

Stiles nodded and tightened his hold on his dad, "It didn't seem right, re-starting the alliance under the Vista name. Q and I are more Nowak. I never even met Great-Grandma Vista."

John coughed to clear a suddenly clogged throat, "I know you won't make any promises, but you better try your damnedest to come back safe, you hear me? If you don't, I'll kill you myself."

"I will dad, I swear, I'll do my best. I need to." Stiles tucked his head into John's shoulder, suddenly wishing he was little again when his dad was the one to make the boogy-monsters go away.

"I know."

"Stiles," Derek said, "We need to go."

Stiles pulled away from his dad, sticking his tongue out when he received a kiss to his temple from the man, "Dad, gross." He wiped at the spot viciously, even as his heart swelled. He hadn't received a kiss from his old man in years. He had kinda missed that form of affection, even if he had been the one to pull away from it as he had gotten older and started to find it embarrassing.

He turned and plucked Quinton from Derek's arms, pressed one last kiss to a chubby cheek and deposited the boy into his dad's arms, "Well…expect a call in a few hours or so. Keep it to texts until then unless it's an emergency."

"We know Stiles," John said, rolling his eyes, "Get out of here already, so I can con Melissa into making her famous hot chocolate."

"Dad!" Stiles exclaimed, even as Derek grabbed his arm and started dragging him out of the house, "No! She use's milk chocolate, you can't have any of that!"

"Good luck Stiles," John said with a huff, before shutting the door in his face.

"Seriously," Stiles said, with a frown, "Rude."

He turned to the yard and saw the remaining were's lining the tree line, heads cocked as they listened for something he couldn't possibly hear. Lydia, the only other non-were besides himself that would be attending that night, had already left to make her way to the house. Stiles grabbed the spade from the porch railing and hopped down into the yard making for the one corner that had already been prepped. He dropped the bulb into the remaining hole and buried it with quick efficiency.

"Just need to lay the mountain ash circle and we're good," Stiles said, pulling a leather pouch from his jeans pocket. He dumped a small amount of ash into his hand, and after motioning the were's into the forest line, closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, and with all the belief he could muster, dropped to his knee and slammed his hand into the ground. He opened his eyes in time to see the circle settle where he wanted, surprised to see faint glimmerings of blue and red settle with the powder. That was new. And probably something he would need to show Deaton when they resumed his training the following week.

"Let's go."

Stiles looked up at Derek before climbing to his feet. He took Derek's hand and promptly squealed – in a totally manly fashion, shut _up_ Jackson – as Derek swung him onto his back and took off at a sprint into the woods. Stiles clutched at Derek's shoulders, peering over at the path ahead of them, trying like hell to use his magic to give them a clear and undisturbed trail. The faster they got to Hale land and away from his house, the better.

* * *

"He's out there," Erica said, leaning against the railing with her eyes trained towards the pond at the far end of the backyard and the forest beyond.

Stiles kept his eyes on the press in front of him, "I know."

There was a scoff to his left and Stiles glanced over, catching sight of Jackson throwing a lacrosse ball towards Boyd, "You know?"

Stiles shrugged, "I can sorta feel him. Like a faint awareness of a kelpie in the area. If I really felt like it, I could listen for him and pinpoint his current position."

"Then why don't you? For that matter, why don't _we_?" Erica asked, tipping her head back, "We could end this right now."

Stiles grabbed another handful of grapes to put through the press, "I promised my dad I'd wait."

"For what? For him to kill all of us?"

Stiles rolled his eyes, "Seriously Jackson? You think one Kelpie is going to take out an entire pack of werewolves? No, I promised him that I wouldn't go after him unless he crossed city limits. Hale land is outside of that. At this point, he has to be the one to start the confrontation."

Stiles pressed the last of the grapes through before pouring the juice into a jug that already held the plants it needed to ferment with. He pressed the cork in before storing the jug away until it was needed…if it was needed. He still hadn't decided on that one yet.

As he straightened, he felt a disconcerting wave of uneasy anticipation flow along the bond that connected him to Derek and thus the pack. His eyes flit to Derek and Scott, who had come to a dead stop in the middle of the yard, looking in the same direction that Erica had been.

He stepped off the porch and came to a stop next to Erica, who whispered, "He's moving."

"In?"

"Yes, but…he's following one of the feeding paths. If he sticks to it, he'll hit the yard on the far side of the house."

"Is he in horse form?"

"Yes."

"No."

Stiles looked between Erica and Scott, who had moved back to join them, "Well, which is it?"

"He just changed back to human. Probably so he didn't have to follow the trail," Scott said, eyes still trained outwards, "He's about twenty yards out yet."

"Hmm," Stiles tilted his head and focused on letting out his hearing. He stumbled a bit on his own feet when he caught the sound of barely labored breathing and the wet squelching of shoes, "Shit, he must have spent all day out at the lake. He's going to be strong."

He felt Scott's gaze finally move to him, "What?"

Stiles squeezed Scott's arm tightly, "Kelpies…water makes them stronger. The longer they stay on dry land, the weaker they get."

"He probably followed that creak that leads south from the lake before taking on horse form when he found a feeding path," Lydia said, stepping out of the house with Stiles old baseball bat, which she had infused with anise root.

"Can't we get the leaf blower and dry him off? Wouldn't that make him weaker?" Erica asked.

"No, not really. A little bit, but after spending all day in the water? Not enough to make a difference. It's time spent _away_ from the water, not necessarily the water itself," Lydia answered.

When Erica made a noise of confusion, Stiles added, "Think of it like mermaids – ones that could take on a human form. They will always be strongest in the water, because that's what they are born to. If one takes human form and walks the land, its unnatural for them, so they will weaken the longer they are away from it and showers only do so much. Once they return to their natural habitat, their strength will return."

"Huh," Erica said, "So do we have an advantage with this one then at all?"

Lydia tapped the bat against the heel of her tennis shoe before swinging it up onto her shoulder as all of the wolves suddenly took on their beta form. Stiles grabbed his scythe dagger from where it had been leaning against the porch steps and gripped it tight.

"Only that he's a salt water kelpie and not fresh water. He won't be as strong as he could be," Lydia said as Alex burst through the tree line.

The kelpie glanced around at the group, taking in the snarling faces with disinterest before his eyes settled on Stiles, "Ah, there you are you little half-breed. I gotta say, you're a hard kid to get close to, but here we finally are. He will be so pleased."

TBC…


	22. Chapter 21

A/N: I have no excuses…again. It's just late. Sorry. Not beta'd.

A/N 2: **I could use a Beta/sounding board/Cheerleader! If interested comment/message...please!**

Onward and enjoy?

* * *

What the ever loving fuck was going on? How did Alex even know that he was a half-breed? Something about this didn't make any sense at all. A quick glance at Derek, whose eyebrows were drawn down into a deep vee showed that the Alpha was thinking the same thing.

It didn't help his worry any that Alex didn't seem at all bothered to be surrounded by a pack of werewolves that were all, theoretically at least, stronger than him. His mind conjured up two scenarios, either that Alex was willing to die for whatever this was or that the he that he mentioned was giving his confidence a significant boost for an unknown reason. He wasn't sure which one he preferred to be honest.

"His bridle is missing," Lydia whispered from her position at his left shoulder.

"Shit." Which just further cemented someone else in charge. Damn it. Could this seriously get any worse?

Alex transforming back into horse form told him that yes, it could indeed get worse. Erica was the first to attack, not bothering to wait for the pack to fall into defense mode. Her claws dug into his flank and Alex danced around on his front hooves before kicking out and catching her in the shoulder with enough force to send her ten feet across the yard.

Boyd and Scott both let out guttural howls before taking her place, working as a team to keep the Kelpie on its metaphorical toes. It worked for a few minutes, the slash marks running up and down Alex's chest and back a testament to their attacks.

Stiles watched this happen with fear in his throat and a tight grip on his scythe. He couldn't help but cheer when Scott managed to get his claws into the Kelpies neck and slashed. "Holy shit," Stiles muttered when not even a second later the marks started to heal up. The books had said nothing about a Kelpie's healing ability, the anomaly with Quinton the night before notwithstanding. It was no wonder Alex seemed so confidant.

Needing to do something to help, it was his and Quinton's life they were trying to save after all, he held his dagger out for Lydia to take. After manfully ignoring the fact that she was even able to take it, he cupped his palms together and held them outwards. He concentrated on what he wanted, a blast of concussive air that he had used to make holes but this time much stronger, and opened his magic to full tilt. With a plea to any God or Goddess that might be watching, he took a deep breath and pushed.

To his shock, the air was not wild like he was expecting it to be and watched with wide eyes as what could only be described as jet streams slammed into Alex's ribcage with a crack, giving Scott time to dive back in. The unfortunate thing about fairy magic was that it was almost sentient in its behavior and would cut off before sending the caster into magical exhaustion – great when healing or even working in the garden, but a bit of an inconvenience when in a fight for one's life.

The flow cut off so abruptly that Stiles stumbled slightly and couldn't help the gasp that emitted. The sound drew Alex's black beady eyes towards him and Stiles couldn't help the shiver of fright as he saw _something_ emerge from the horse's mouth – something that looked an awful lot like long elongated spears.

"Mother fucker," Stiles said, taking a step backwards as his heart started stammering in his chest, "I didn't know Kelpie's could do that, but it explains the bite patterns on Aunt Mer's stomach. Oh, Fuck, I'm going to puke."

"Wait until we're safe, for God's sake," Lydia snapped, shoving the scythe back into his hands.

Stiles swallowed thickly as Alex started towards him, completely ignoring the four lycan's trying to take him down. He got halfway across the yard before Derek let out a growl so fierce that Stiles felt the hair on the back of neck rise.

"We can't kill him," Stiles muttered as Derek transformed from beta to Alpha form, "We need information. Lydia and I will find a way to contain him. Just take him down."

"What can you do offensively with your magic?" Lydia asked.

Stiles shook his head as he watched the Alpha enter the fray, "I don't know. The air cannon thing, but it wasn't particularly helpful. I can hover things, but keeping a full size horse up in the air for any length of time will deplete me. If you recall, I haven't exactly been able to practice!"

Lydia hummed and cocked her head as she ran her eyes analytically over the horse, "Kelpies don't generally wear shoes."

Stiles blinked, catching sight of something on the bottom of one of the hooves, "He was while in human form. They transferred over when he shifted? That's possible?"

"Hm, leather then instead of steel. Just enough for protection and practical for use in human form," She grabbed his arm and pulled him further from the fight, "Can you make them disappear?"

"I don't know."

"Well," She said, her voice pitched low, "We're going to find out."

"And then? Because you know that won't bring him down."

Lydia smirked and Stiles had to gird himself to keep from backing away. That was one really terrifying face, "You're a fairy, from a breed that dabbles mostly in nature."

Stiles frowned. Normally he wouldn't take offense to that as it was true, but for some reason that felt like an insult coming from the strawberry blonde, "What's your point?"

"Thorns."

"I don't…huh," he trailed off with a glance over his shoulder, "Could do."

"Make them short, strong, and extremely sharp. They will need to penetrate. Once they're in, make them grow. That will take him down. At least two hooves, but more would be better."

Stiles nodded and turned, hoping he didn't need to be up close and personal for this to work. He took a deep, calming breath and held his hands out again. He poured all his will into what he wanted to do before slashing his right arm across the air with his hand held palm up. Seconds later, he was holding all four pairs of thick leather horse shoes, the magic that was inherent in the leather making his hand tingle. With his left hand, he aimed at the ground and began coaxing up the thorns he needed under Alex's hooves.

He gulped as Alex snorted and aimed wild eyes back towards him. Knowing he had to be smart about this and that he didn't have much time, he began coaxing the thorns up in a trail leading away from Alex and towards himself. Which was totally awesome thinking on his part, as Alex began to charge him.

Stiles panicked and clenched his hand into a fist, the thorns shooting up from the ground like pikes. Alex whinnied as the thorns entered the soft underside of his hooves but it took Derek clamping his teeth onto Alex's flank to bring him down. Stiles stopped the growth and concentrated his magic on the ones imbedded in the hooves, making them longer as Alex whinnied in pain.

"Got him!" Stiles shouted in satisfaction and his arms in the air, when Alex fell onto his side with a ground shaking thump.

Derek released Alex and tilted his head back, letting out a triumphant howl that the Beta's joined in on. When the sound cut off, Derek turned to Stiles and gave him an expectant look.

Stiles rolled his eyes, "He's not getting up. We're good for now."

Derek nodded and, after one last snap of his teeth at Alex's throat in warning, began to usher the betas towards the house. He veered off and nudged at Stiles leg with a huff.

"Yeah, yeah, no staying out here with crazy horse. I'm coming."

* * *

"So how do we get him to transform? He's not going to be talking in this shape," Scott said, staring out the window while he wiped himself down with the rag Stiles had found for him.

Stiles raised an eyebrow and looked over at Lydia, whose face had pinched in thought, "I think we need…"

"His bridle," Lydia finished for him, "Which is a problem."

Stiles rubbed at his face with a harsh sigh, "You think?"

"Can we summon it? Stiles has magic," Erica asked as she scratched at the dry blood covering her arm, her voice vague as she kept watch with Scott.

Stiles snorted then sent a glare towards Jackson who had echoed it, "No, I can't. For one, the bridle is a magical item and a kelpies…well, magic – for a lack of a better word, clashes with fairies. That's why, oddly enough, the thorns worked. His bodies healing factor won't be able to push them out. Secondly, I am not a witch. I don't have the ability to summon anything."

"Well, what good are you then?" Jackson asked, a sneer in his voice.

"Jesus Christ. Is your memory faulty? I'm the one that took him down! Not you, who made a few measly attempts at stopping him," Stiles hand flopped in a pathetic mimicry of Jackson's slashing technique, before dropping to sit on one of the barstools, "Unfortunately, that clash in magic means I can't transform him back either."

"But you summoned his shoes," Scott said, motioning at the table where Stiles had laid the leather.

Stiles shrugged, "Not like you're thinking. There's magic running through the leather, I can _feel_ it but it's not kelpie's magic. He found someone or something with a compatible magic, a witch maybe, that charmed the shoes for him. I just, I dunno, broke the charm. 'Sides, leather is an animal byproduct which means I can generally manipulate it in some way. His bridle on the other hand is made up of hair from his mane and tail."

"Can we force him?" Boyd asked.

Stiles blinked at the normally quiet teen, "Force…him…"

"You can manipulate the earth, that much is obvious. Can you do the air around him?" Lydia asked, obviously picking up where Boyd was going.

Stiles eyes widened and he sat up straight, "If I make a multiple point containment area, I can suck the moisture out of the air in it. It'll be too dry for him to stay in kelpie form. My first fairy circle!" He pumped his fist in excitement.

"Why didn't you do that before we started fighting?" Scott asked, glancing down at his shoulder where Alex's teeth had left long, wicked looking cuts, "'Cause these aren't healing well."

Stiles winced, "Never thought of it. Grampa only mentioned fairy circles, like, twice the entire time I was in Washington. And I was only half paying attention because those books he gave me to read out of were boring as fuck." Stiles grabbed his messenger bag up off the floor and began rooting through it, "Sorry, I had no idea about Kelpie teeth, creepy as hell amiright?"

He looked up at Scott with half wild eyes, his brain flashing back to his early morning Netflix zone out, "Dude, they looked like the teeth from that Doctor Who episode, the one with prisoner zero?"

"Ugh," Scott grimaced, "You're right. Those _teeth." _He added on with a full body shiver.

"_Ugh_ sounds about right, the thought of them is still making me queasy. Here," Stiles pulled out a jar and slid it down towards Scott, "Some of my healing salve. This is the bit that I made this morning but wound up not using. See if it helps you any. If it does, pass what's left around. You don't need to use a lot, just so you know."

"Thanks," Scott said, accepting the jar and sniffing at it warily.

Derek walked into the kitchen, rubbing a towel through his hair, "Do you have what you need to make a circle?" He asked, his words proof to all those around that he still listened to his pack, even while in the shower. His eyes flicked around the room, taking in his betas, "Erica, go shower."

"Finally," She muttered, crossing the room. Her fingertips trailed along Stiles back as she passed him, "Good job, by the way."

Stiles couldn't help but let his chest puff up at that, even as his cheeks flushed in pleased embarrassment. That was pretty high praise coming from someone who didn't even like him a week prior.

"Stiles, focus," Derek said, cuffing at his temple.

Stiles blinked at Derek for a moment before shaking himself. Right. Circle. Focus. He could totally do that, "I don't need anything physical for the circle, if that's what you mean. In this instance, its all will."

Derek nodded, "Just be careful. I've seen the damage fairy circles can do. Please don't kill my yard."

"Don't kill your yard," Stiles echoed before snorting, "Are you kidding me? Your yard is still a hunk of mess from the construction," He patted Derek on the shoulder as he stood up, "But don't worry, I'll be as careful as I can be."

"You're an asshole," Derek said, an eyebrow raised as his eyes followed Stiles towards the door, "Where are you going?"

"Duh and to make the circle?"

Scott snagged him by the collar and Stiles yelped as the sudden halt had his arm flinging out to smack into the counter, "What?"

Scott tugged him away from the door before letting him go, "You're not going out there by yourself."

"Oh come on, he's down for the count and I don't even need to leave the porch," He looked around at the wolves that were all staring him down before letting out a gusty sigh, "Fine. Who wishes to accompany me then?"

Derek stepped forward, "I am."

Stiles blinked before giving Derek a nod. He supposed he wasn't really surprised. Derek might have, and even that was a shaky thought, let Boyd or Scott be the ones to follow him out if they hadn't started…whatever it is that they started. The alpha had already been territorial about his betas, especially the humans, but the romance slash maybe dating thing had made it a bit worse in concert to Stiles.

Already knowing how this was going to go down, Stiles didn't move from his position by Scott until Derek had passed him. With a roll of his eyes, aimed at Scott who had to bite his hand to hide his sudden snicker, Stiles followed Derek out.

Fairy circles, from what Stiles could remember, were different for every breed of fairy. Some used them to bewitch and enchant humans; others used them as portals between one place and another. Stiles wasn't entirely certain if the fabled fairy realms existed, but that was another possibility behind the circles. For Sidhe fairies, whose magic was based off of will, the circle could take any one of those aspects. Because Alex was a Kelpie, Stiles wouldn't be able to enchant, but he sure as hell could trap the bastard and make his life a little bit hellish to get what information they needed.

Stiles stepped up next to Derek at the edge of the porch and wove his hand around the Alpha's elbow, "Glad you're out here. I need you to ground me."

He felt Derek's arm tighten and looked up to see the older man looking at him, "Ground you how?"

Stiles let his eyes drift forward towards Alex, who was breathing hard and letting out little whinnies every other breath, "I don't know how well the alliance is going to help," Stiles said, tightening his hand, "But what I do know is that having a wolf from the pack touch me helps steady my magic. It should be stronger with you, since you're the Alpha." He couldn't help the smirk at that.

Derek pulled his arm back and slid his hand down Stiles arm to weave his fingers with Stiles, "Will this work?"

Stiles smirk grew, "Yeah. You know, this would be much more romantic if there wasn't a brood of werewolves watching us…or a really annoying Kelpie sprawled across the lawn."

Derek squeezed his fingers, "Shut up and do your circle thing."

Kelpies' hearing must have been better than average, Stiles mused to himself, as Alex started thrashing around at those words. Something to certainly keep in mind about Quinton. Stiles took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he felt for his magic. He let it start to pour out of him carefully, and he could have jumped for joy as it slipped out of him slowly rather than full on gush out. He let a little more flow and began directing it towards where Alex lay.

Stiles willed the magic into the ground just before it reached the Kelpie and had it converge just below the chest of the horse. Once he was sure he had enough to complete the circle, he cut off the flow of the magic and started willing the ball of magic to spread out and up.

"It's working," He heard Derek breathe out at his shoulder.

Stiles felt a giddy bubble erupt in his chest at that and couldn't help the surprised laugh. Shit, he couldn't believe this was actually working. With a renewed sense of purpose, he poured all the will he could muster into that circle working in tandem to not only make it strong enough to hold Alex but to also pull any and all moisture out of the air within the boundaries Stiles had set.

"Stiles."

Stiles hummed in acknowledgement, even as he began prodding around for any moisture he might have missed. He didn't think he had, but even a tiny pocket of mud would be an oasis to the kelpie in the small area that Stiles had made drier than the Atacama Desert once he sensed it.

"…Stiles..."

"Hang on…almost," Stiles muttered. A few seconds later he hit the final section of the barrier with a satisfied huff, "Got it all. Not a lick of water to be had within the circle," He opened his eyes and jerked backwards, "Oops?"

Derek reached out with his free hand to touch, "Guess you forgot something?"

Stiles blinked at the cloud that was surrounding them, "Think so. I'm just gunna…" He held up his hand and nudged his magic out, using it to pull the cloud down to hover around his wrist. He cocked his head at it, wondering what he could do. He didn't want to deposit the water anywhere other than where he took it from, but he couldn't keep it tethered to him without depleting his magic.

"Lydia, can you come out here?" He said over his shoulder as an idea came to him, not bothering to raise his voice. If she didn't hear him, one of the were's definitely would.

The entire group waiting inside of the house must have crowded into the mudroom or something, because Stiles heard the door squeak and Lydia's tread nearly as soon as the words requesting her left his mouth. He could feel Lydia's eyes boring into the back of his head with disappointment and he had to suppress the shudder of shame that welled up. It seriously wasn't fair that she was even remotely capable of making him feel like this when their relationship was only just past an acquaintance stage.

"There are things called buckets, Stiles." She said as she came to a stop next to him at the railing.

Stiles shook his head, "No, not…look, you know better. Water has microbes and all kinds of other crap in it. If I can, I want to put it all back where it was after, not mix it all up and just…dump it where ever. So, I'm going to tie it to you and your 'otherness.'"

Once Lydia and the cloud were taken care of, they turned their attention back to Alex. The Kelpie had shifted back to his human form at some point, being too dry to stay in his horse form. The change had shifted some of the thorns that were still embedded in him and the man was now lying in his own puddle of goopy looking blood.

"Well," Scott said, from over Stiles shoulder, "Step one complete?"

TBC…

So…what did you think? This chapter gave me so many issues. Just…so many. Ugh. Anyone interested in helping? Maybe with a sounding board/beta, I'll get these done faster.


End file.
